


A study of Advanced Potion Theory: Techniques for Senior Researchers

by microdreams



Series: Potion Theory [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Consultant, Auror Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Insecure Harry, Light Bondage, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Potions Theory, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Rimming, Self-defeating Draco, Switching, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-25 04:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17718047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microdreams/pseuds/microdreams
Summary: Draco takes a steadying breath as he heard the Floo flare. While their old animosity had faded almost completely over the years, having the man in his personal space was a different matter. OK, itwasonly his office, but it still felt a little uncomfortable."Malfoy?"His voice sounds a little uncertain too, which actually makes Draco feel more settled. At least he isn't the only one out of his comfort zone this evening."I'll be through in a second. Make yourself comfortable."He gives his simmering potion another glance, nods as he sees the tell-tale glimmer of a rainbow-like sheen on the surface, before turning off the flame and dropping a stasis spell over the cauldron. He's timed it perfectly.He smoothes his hands down his front, trying to deny to himself why he bothered to put on his best set of lab robes today, they’re the ones he usually reserves for his brewing demonstrations at conferences.He curses his friendship with that damn woman, she's the one who has got him into this situation, then makes his way to the door.





	1. Arnaud's Principle of Variation

**Author's Note:**

> I started another fic (my first ever: [On the finer points of magical control, teacups, and the fluid nature of familial connections](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16683403) ) but it is going to be a very long one, and I felt the need to complete something. I feel like it will motivate me!
> 
> Hence this, my second ever fic, is finished before the first! And also long!
> 
> Section breaks:  
> 
> 
> \+ + + + + 
> 
>   
> Indicates a short time skip, a few minutes or maybe hours.
> 
> Whereas:  
> 
> 
> • • + • • 
> 
>   
> Indicates a longer time skip, at least the next day if not longer. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco only really sees him in passing, usually. They've met and exchanged brief words on the way in and out of Granger's office a few times, at the odd Ministry function, and they were both at her and Weasley's house warming late last year. He'd kept firmly out of his orbit that night though, apart from stilted greetings and introductions.

Draco takes a steadying breath as he hears the Floo flare. While their old animosity had faded almost completely over the years, having the man in his personal space was a different matter. OK, it _was_ only his office, but it still felt a little uncomfortable.

"Malfoy?"

His voice sounds a little uncertain too, which actually makes Draco feel more settled. At least he isn't the only one out of his comfort zone this evening.

"I'll be through in a second. Make yourself comfortable." He gives his simmering potion another glance, nods as he sees the tell-tale glimmer of a rainbow-like sheen on the surface, before turning off the flame and dropping a stasis spell over the cauldron. He's timed it perfectly.

He smoothes his hands down his front, trying to deny to himself why he bothered to put on his best set of lab robes today, they’re the ones he usually reserves for his brewing demonstrations at conferences.

He curses his friendship with that damn woman, she's the one who has got him into this situation, then makes his way to the door.

\+ + + + + 

He is stood by the fireplace looking at the photos Draco has on the walls. "Are all of these your students?" He hasn't turned, still concentrating on the photos, which gives Draco a chance to examine him without being under scrutiny himself.

Draco only really sees him in passing, usually. They've met and exchanged brief words on the way in and out of Granger's office a few times, at the odd Ministry function, and they were both at her and Weasley's house warming late last year. He'd kept firmly out of his orbit that night though, apart from stilted greetings and introductions. Potter had been there with his boyfriend, Ìosaph Stone, a chaser with Portree. Draco had dragged Blaise along. None of his casual shags came up to the intellectual standards required for a party of Hermione's. Or his own standards for being anything more than a casual shags, come to that. He can’t really afford to be picky though.

The other man has got a bit taller in the eight years since school. Not much, but there's not quite so much between them now. And he's certainly filled out. He'd been horribly scrawny in school, something Draco had gleefully delighted in at the time. Not so much now he knows more of the man's upbringing.

When he'd returned to finish off Voldemort he had looked more wiry, more like the man he now was than the boy he’d known, and the Auror training program has finished the job. He's not muscular exactly, it's more that there's a sort of coiled power to his physique now. He's lithe, light on his feet, and very easy on the eye. 

Draco skims his eyes appreciativly over his shoulders and down across his arse. He's very helpfully taken off his outer Auror robes and slung them over the back of a chair, so he's dressed just in his form fitting black trousers, with a few too many weird but probably useful pockets, and a short-sleeved black t-shirt that hugs him in all the right places. It has 'AUROR' emblazoned across the back and POTTER in smaller type across his bicep. His wand is secured in a minimal black leather holster strapped around his right arm. Draco offers his silent thanks to whoever works in purchasing at the Ministry.

Potter turns and looks at him with a raise of the eyebrow, and nods his head at the photos. Draco realises he hasn't answered the question. He really must get a grip. And stop being such a perve. He shakes his head, "Sorry, I was miles away, a potion I'm working on.” He gestures vaguely in the direction of his lab in an attempt to cover up his inappropriate thoughts.

"Oh! I can come back another time, if you're in the middle of something. I don't want to impose. I really appreciate you seeing me at all." He makes a tentative move towards the large desk, as if to go and gather his robes. Draco puts up his hand in a halting motion.

"No, not at all. It was just a stray thought. It will keep until tomorrow. I've closed down the lab for the night now anyway." Potter stills his motion and smiles. It goes straight to Draco's knees. "Tea? I just need to clean up and then we can get started." Potter nods, and sits himself at the table as Draco heads first to the bathroom, then to the little kitchen next to his lab.

\+ + + + + 

"Some of them are my students, others are Potion Masters I have collaborated with either on panels at conferences, or that I've co-authored papers with. I know it seems a bit narsacistic, but Blaise insisted on it when I started out, as a promotional thing. Then it just kind of carried on. I take a photo of each student once they've passed their examination, or had their viva or gained a place as an apprentice. They actually seem to like it." He knows he's babbling, but he feels like he has to say something. He levitates the tray with tea, biscuits, sugar and milk down onto the table.

"Ah, Wall of Honour." Draco looks at him quizically. "We have one similar at the Ministry. Once you pass out of training you get on the Wall. Our trainees like it too. It's motivating I guess. It is mostly class photos in our case. Otherwise we'd need a pretty massive wall."

"Hmm? 'Mostly' class photos?" Draco pours them both tea, and hands Potter a plate to put his biscuits on.

Potter blushes. "There are some individual ones too." He crams a biscuit in his mouth, as if to stop himself saying something else incriminating.

Draco takes great delight in not letting it drop, "Yours is one of the individual ones, I take it? Killing Dark Wizard privileges or...?"

"God, no, no, not for that. Dux. You get an individual photo if you are Dux for your intake. So...yeah."

And Draco is impressed. He knows Potter's year had been a large intake, and not a shabby one either. A few of the DA gang from school, assorted other Hogwarts graduates, plus a pile of people who had wanted to join up on returning to Britain. Plus those who either hadn't been able or willing to join in previous years due to blood status or family connections. Potter coming top is nothing to be sniffed at.

"But Potions wasn't part of the curriculum?" Draco takes a sip of tea, but it does very little to hide his smirk.

Potter spots it and, unexpectedly, laughs. It’s deep and warm. "Not to this level. We just got basic stuff on how to apply generic poison antidotes, how to stabilise potions evidence to send to the lab, stuff like that. This is way beyond that. I’ve picked stuff up over the years, and I've been doing my own reading. Hermione suggested some books, but I need some help to get any further."

"Why not go to the Ministry lab staff? They must know the evidence intimately?" He wants to know why him. He knows Bryce is good. Also quite cantankerous and set in his ways, but fairly approachable nonetheless.

"Bryce is great, don't get me wrong, but we're getting nowhere on this even with his analysis. I need to look at things from a different angle, see if I can get a handle on it. He's quite...traditional? Procedural?" He looks up at Draco through his eyelashes, "Hermione says you're a great teacher. And innovative in the way you conduct research. It seemed the perfect solution."

The fact that Hermione's said that gives him a warm glow inside. He knows he's good. Knows that she thinks so, she's said as much to his face after all. But for her to recommend him to Potter gives him the kind of validation he _so_ wishes he didn't crave.

Potter reaches over to his robes and pulls out a shrunken file of parchment. He unshrinks it with a wandless flick of his wrist and takes out the top sheet. "It's a standard Ministry Consultation contract. Non-disclosure, etc, etc. You can read it at your leisure, sign it, and then just owl it back. You'll get owled back a copy." 

After Potter signs his part on the back page and initials the other pages with a quill he's fished out of his robes, he pushes it to the side. "You've got a Ministry Consultant number from that stuff you did for Hermione, right? Just invoice the DMLE using that, and referencing the Auror Department and case number" He scribbles that down on a blank bit of parchment, "and bill your top hourly rate plus any expenses."

\+ + + + + 

Draco had insisted on signing the contract and owling it off before he allowed himself to look at the case files Potter had tried to hand him. Due to his ‘shit of a day’ Potter hadn’t had the time to get the documents to him as planned before this meeting. Draco leafs through them to get the gist but he'll have a more detailed read before he meets with Potter next.

"So, what do you need from me? You said you'd done some of your own reading?" Draco has a variety of Potions Theory books stacked ready on the end of the desk, the ones he usually uses with his post-NEWT students hoping to go on to gain a Mastery, or those doing additional study before applying for an apprenticeship.

This afternoon, in a mild panic, he had also looked out his old NEWT level, and then OWL level books too, then in an even further panic a couple of basic primers from when he was a kid. He has no idea what he's working with here, just what he remembers of Potter from shared Potions class in school, which isn't great. He's placed the school texts on a shelf nearby. Consequently he’s got everything within reach from books you would gift a ten year old pre-Hogwarts, right up to A Study of Advanced Potion Theory: Techniques for Senior Researchers. He's proud of that one. It is the latest version, edited by himself and a French colleague.

"Yeah. My approach has been pretty scattergun though. I don't know enough theory to know where to look, how to try and join the dots, so I feel like I'm going round in circles. Whoever is creating these potions is pretty clever. I need to figure out how to get the jump on what they're doing next. They keep evolving things all the time. And a lot of the potions on their own are fairly harmless: recreational highs, mild aphrodisiacs, inhibition suppressors, though all moderately addictive too, but it is when they are used in combination that they get nasty." Draco nods. Even a skim of the reports had made that clear.

Settling back in his seat, Potter continues, "We thought at first that it was accidental, but now we're pretty certain it is the same person creating them all, and aiming for them to be used in combination."

Draco glances at the reports again, "So, you say they are coming out in waves? Getting people hooked on one or two that seem harmless, then they send out the next lot onto the market which interact with that?"

Potter shift forward in his seat again, eagerly, "Exactly. And because it was mostly Muggles at first we didn't pick up on it right away. Once they started popping up in Wizarding places we got wind of it, and it is standard practice these days to run stuff through the Muggle police systems to find any links. We don't publicise that though, so this witch or wizard may not be aware we have that information."

"We've managed to play it down as magical youths having accidental overdoses, the inadvised mixing of potions and Muggle drugs, but the Prophet are bound to figure it out soon. What we think actually happened was that they were using the Muggle world as a testing ground, now they are moving onto their real target. We'd like to get as far as we can with the investigation before this Potioneer finds out we're on to them."

Potter slides another bit of parchment across to him, "My reading list so far. I'd thought that if maybe there was a connection between the style of potion, or the range of ingredients, we might be able to narrow it down to a smaller pool of names, either of Potion Masters or suppliers. Or maybe a particular style so we could guess at where they trained?"

Draco glances down the list. He has to admit, it isn't what he expected. It is pretty complex stuff. His face must have a strange look on it as he tries to hide his surprise, as Potter misreads his expression, "I know, I know! Like I said, scattergun. I've just been dipping in and out of all these different texts, then a reference in one will lead me to another book, and then the next." Potter scuffs his hands up through his hair, smiles, "and they aren't the easiest bedtime reading." Draco resolutely does not think about Potter propped up in bed, topless, with a cup of tea by his side, and a potions theory book in hand. It is like several of his fantasies have happily collided.

"Did you find anything you thought useful in them?" Just because Potter has read them doesn't mean he understands them Draco reminds himself.

Potter's tone is hesitant, questioning. "Well, I did think Buxton's Theory of Complement might be relevant?" Draco gives him an encouraging nod as he turns to drag out the relevant book, and he continues "and I had wondered if they were applying Arnaud's Principle of Variation, but it just doesn't seem quite right somehow."

Draco thinks as he grabs a second book and some parchment, "Nevertheless, a good thought." A _very_ good thought. Draco's not quite sure what to do with the situation he finds himself in. Through the years he's put Potter in a box variously labelled 'impetuous', 'powerful', 'brave', 'annoying', 'lucky', 'selfless'. And 'fit'. He had never considered 'patient', 'studious', or 'academic' might apply.

He decides he's going to deal with it by shoving it right to the back of his brain, and only thinking about it later, a _very_ long while later. While a long way away from Potter.

He pushes a parchment at Potter. "Let's start with that. Let’s summarise what you know, overlay what you've guessed from your research and we'll see where the gaps are."

This is going to potentially be a lot more fun that he had envisioned.

• • + • • 

Draco is in the Ministry for his usual Thursday lunch with Hermione. On Tuesday, their first meeting, he had to force Potter to leave after forty five minutes of them intensively trading ideas back and forth, Draco gently testing where the gaps in Potter's knowledge were as they went. The man had been almost asleep on his feet by the time they were done. He clearly hadn’t been joking about his ‘shit of a day’.

Seemingly Potter had planned to go home that evening and continue summarising case notes to send Draco. As Draco would be in the Ministry, and therefore able to pick them up in person, he had found himself suggesting that Potter do ‘nothing of the sort’. Hopefully the man had taken the delay to allow himself some rest.

He hesitates as he gets in the lift. They hadn’t agreed on a location to meet, he’d just mentioned the standing lunch date although Potter had already seemed aware of it. He wonders if he should go to Potter’s office before he heads onto Granger’s. He casts Tempus and sees he probably doesn’t have time if they want to be able to talk the file though properly. Granger appreciates punctuality, even for personal engagements, in fact maybe even more so. It isn’t like she gets much down time, so she doesn’t like to waste it.

As he is dithering over which floor to head to, one of Hermione’s juniors steps into the lift. She presses the button for Level 9 and smiles at him “I hope you are going somewhere nice today. She’s been working all hours. If she’s not here she’s down arguing with the team in Legal.” Granger had spent two years in Legal herself, working in a role shared between them and Magical Creatures to enact new Creature legislation.

Many had thought she’d step up into an undersecretary or advisor role in the Wizenmagot after that. Mysteries had poached her before it could happen, the lure of their library had proved too great to resist. Many in the Wizenmagot had breathed a sigh of relief at that. Draco surmises they really are foolish if they think they’ve seen the back of her. Give her a few years to power her way through the ranks of the Unspeakables and then she’ll be back out there with a wealth of dangerous new knowledge under her belt. They won’t know what has hit them.

“Cafeteria sandwich not going to cut it today then?” It never does. Granger should throw some of her intellect behind that issue.

He chats for a bit longer with Lissa as he walks to Hermione’s office, handling doors for her as they go. “Do make sure she eats properly. She doesn’t listen to us,” she calls as they part ways.

He leans on the doorframe of the anteroom to the office to observe his unlikely friend from a distance. She’s got a shield spell up and is levitating a glowing glasss ball back into a solid looking metal box. Draco keeps quiet, he knows better than to distract her at moments like these. Once the box is closed, the room much dimmer now without the eerie glow, she drops the Protego and he feels safe to step further into the room, calling “Hello darling, how are you?” She looks up, delight written on her features.

“Draco! I’m famished, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve had enough of _that_ bloody thing for the day.”

“That’s right, make a man feel valued. I suspected it, but now I _know_ you only love me because I feed you.”

“Whoever said I love you? What a truly awful idea!” She comes forward and kisses his cheek. “Right, let’s go. We can swing by Level 10 first, then it is sushi time!”

\+ + + + + 

They enter the corridor that leads to the viewing areas of the court and committee rooms. Hermione striding towards Committee Room 1, Draco trailing behind. He’s grumbles, “So what are we doing here, and how long will it delay lunch? You’ve said the word sushi and my taste buds heard you. I need pickled ginger, pronto.” Hermione swings the door open and puts her finger to her lips.

“It depends how obstinate they are feeling, and how on form he is, I guess.” She whispers as she takes a seat. “I imagine he wants it over quickly though, he hates these things.” Draco is confused, until he sees the occupants of the room. In session is the Security Commitee of the Wizenmagot, and centre stage is Deputy Head Auror Potter.

The next fifteen minutes proves to be a masterclass in Potter ripping the committee a new one without them even seeming to realise it is happening. It is beautiful. From what he can tell they called him in to answer on several points they were unhappy with in recent Auror cases. By the end of it they seem to have increased the Auror budget for the next quarter, and issued apologies to the Department for oversights on their part. Draco isn’t quite sure how it happened, and he was watching carefully. Hermione leans over, voice lowered. “Impressive, isn’t it? I’d suspect him of Confunding them if these rooms weren’t magically dampened.” 

Draco nods. Fucked, he’s so very, very fucked.

\+ + + + + 

Hermione is stirring wasabi and soy sauce together as she speaks, not looking up, “I’m really glad your consulting for Harry is working out, I thought you would be a good fit.” 

Draco has a mouth full of rice, but Potter replies.“Well major thanks due your way, ‘Mione. I felt like I got further in understanding what we’re dealing with in one evening with Malfoy than I’ve got in the last few weeks.” Potter has gone for Katsu Curry, he’s wielding his chopsticks deftly. Merlin, who even _is he_ these days?

Draco swallows and joins in, “It’s an interesting project, I’m glad you sent it my way, Hermione” and he is, and not just because he gets to see Potter up close over an extended period for the first time in years. It is fascinating stuff intellectually, plus whoever it is needs stopping ASAP. The ensuing coverage when they solve it won’t do his business any harm either, he thinks.

“You can take me on a dirty weekend to Vienna as payment” she laughs. Potter looks confused, and not a little concerned, until the following conversation makes clear they are both off to the same Austrian conference the following weekend.

• • + • • 

Regular Tuesday evenings rapidly turn into Tuesday evenings, Wednesday afternoons and Thursday lunchtimes. Potter apologises for muscling in on his and Hermione’s standing date, but it gives them an opportunity to pick her brains, so Draco isn’t complaining. Potter is surprisingly decent company too. He’s funny and charming, particularly around Hermione who he clearly loves as if she were his own blood. Draco knows his previously appreciation of Potter’s looks and power has rapidly morphed into a full on crush. Who is he kidding? Crush? He fancies the man something rotten. He thinks he’s got it well hidden though, not even Hermione seems to have guessed and he’s usually an open book to her. He’s glad of that, not only is the Auror her best friend, nut he’s in a long term committed relationship, for Merlin's sake.

It’s fine. He can squash it down now, while they work together, then when this project is over he can take out his feelings and examine them then. In privacy. And never speak of it to anyone. If Blaise knew that his schoolboy crush had reared its head again he would never let him live it down. Blaise had been mercilious at the time, he’d be even worse now.

He pops his head round Hermione’s door to find she isn’t in. As he’s casting Tempus, Potter strolls in with a small collection of files under his arm. “I brought you some new evidence, we had a couple more cases that we think are linked. I’ve got Bryce’s analysis but I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet. I’ve made a copy for you.”

Two red paper airplane memos whisk into the room at that moment, each of them smashing into the temple of the recipient. 

“I swear she does that on purpose.” Potter is rubbing his head, plane in his hand as it unfolds itself. It starts to speak, clearly a kind of polite but pointy version of a Howler. Draco’s does the same, which gives them a weird dysyncronous message to listen to as both planes begin to talk at almost the same time in Hermione’s voice.

“Sorry, _H/_ D/ _a/_ rac/ _r_ /o/ _y/_ , I’ve got caught up with something in the field and I won’t be back into time for lunch. / _Be a darling and_ / If you’re still going to Romano’s then I’ll love you forever if you get me one of their / _the mortadella_ / specials, the one with mortadella. I’ll owl you.”

Potter frowns for a second as he parses the meaning of the garbled words, before holding open the door for Draco, “Romano’s then?”.

\+ + + + + 

It is the first time they’ve been out somewhat socially with just the two of them. Draco’s is surprised at how easy it is, even without Hermione here. Potter has shrunk the files and stowed them in his pocket, he doesn’t seem inclined to talk about work at all. Draco casts around for a subject as they are sat in the little Italian, Hermione’s sandwich on the table beside them wrapped and a discretely placed stasis charm on it. “How’s Jo?”

 _How’s Jo? How’s fucking Jo?_ Draco could kick his own brain sometimes, the last thing his fragile ego needs is Potter waxing lyrical about his hot Quidditch playing boyfriend.

“Great. Well, last time I checked.” He laughs ruefully. “We haven’t had much of a chance to see each other recently. I managed to get to his game against Montrose at the weekend, thankfully, but then he was straight off to Norway for a friendly and a training camp after, so yeah. Cold, probably?” He smiles and jokes, “Full of pickled herring, maybe?”

He pops an olive in his mouth and glances at Draco, “And you? How’s Blaise? I mean, are you still. . .?”

Draco can’t work out what Potter means for a second, then he can, and then he’s somewhat horrified, “Blaise? Me? And Blaise? Oh, hell no, we never... Blaise and I aren’t...” He can’t quite get the words out.

Potter flushes, “Shit, sorry. I just been assuming because you and he were at ‘Mione and Ron’s party together, you mentioned him a bit, and he’s been your plus one at a couple of Ministry things. I’m sorry. I bloody hate it when people make assumptions about my sexuality, and then I’ve just done exactly the same thing to you, and to Blaise. I really am sorry.” He looks genuinely contrite, and very embarrassed.

Draco decides to throw him a bone. “No, _that_ assumption is quite right. I’m as gay as they come, and Blaise is more than a little bent himself. But me and him? He’s one of my best friends. Never. Imagine shagging Ronald.” Potter’s face twists in a rather ugly way, and Draco snorts, “Yeah, that’s how I’d feel about being with Blaise. Besides, he’s a love them and leave them type.”

“And you’re not?” And this has all got rather personal all of a sudden. But despite the weirdness of discussing his personal life with his ex-enemy, now maybe friend, and secret crush, it feels oddly natural.

“Not by nature.” He puts on a self-depreciating tone. “Current circumstances dictate otherwise however.” Potter looks at him with a questioning glance, next olive paused halfway to his mouth. “Well, in the Wizarding world not many people are even out, are they? Although that has improved with no small thanks to yourself. The ones that are out, well, they don’t particularly want to be seen with a former Death Eater. They might get a thrill out of regularly shagging, or being shagged, by one but they aren’t exactly clamouring to be seen on my arm in Diagon.”

He waves away the start of Potter’s protest. “Hush! It’s true. And in the Muggle world, well, one night stands or short flings are easiest. Otherwise there is too much hiding, too much pretending. I can’t exactly bring anyone back to mine.” He attempts to lighten the mood. This has got a bit depressing a bit quickly. “I fall apart under the pressure of remembering that you can’t just conjure lube in the heat of the moment, and that if you get up in the night to piss you should use a light switch instead of a Lumos.” That gets a laugh, but Potter looks a little melancholy too.

The Auror clears his throat, ducks his down to look at his napkin which he’s folding between his fingers, “I got a Muggle flat, at first, before I’d come out in the Wizarding world. For that, bringing men back to. Some women too.” He blushes a little as he says it, he’s still not looking at Draco. “I think I just wanted to feel like I was normal, that people wanted me for _me_? So I began going to Muggle gay clubs when I started to want to explore that side of myself without it hitting the front page, but then the guys weren’t really wanting me for _me_ then either. I was just a willing partner who they probably wouldn’t ever see again. So I got a flat nearby, started to hang about a bit in some cafes and book shops in that area. Trying to see if I could find something a bit more real. I met a guy I kind of liked. But like you say, I had to hide so much of myself. And I was sick of doing that already.”

Potter spins his water glass round. “The double life was suffocating, I was spending more and more time in the Muggle world, but I still didn’t feel like I could be myself. Hermione sat me down and suggested I try dating men who were already well known in the Wizarding world, then it might not be so awkward. Charlie Weasley set me up with this Broom Racer from the Romanian International team.” Draco remembers. It had been all over the press. “He was nice enough, he was fun and we got on well, but there was nothing much to it. But it was a bit easier, knowing he wasn’t in it for the fame. Or at least not quite so much. It gave me a bit more confidence to date around.” He grimaces, “From the outside it must look like I have a total thing for Quidditch players and broom racers, I guess. I mean, I’m not averse, but it is just the way it has kind of ended up.”

“No, I get that. It makes sense. Plus as you say, not bad for other reasons.” He attempts to lighten the mood by waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Potter. He probably looks like an arse, he thinks.

A smile ghosts across Potter’s face. He looks like he’s warring with himself over what to say next, before making a decision. “I think they’re foolish, those guys. _If_ what you say is true and they don’t want to be seen with you. I’ve been trying for a while to work out how to say this without sounding massively patronising, but I really admire what you’ve done with your life since the War.” Draco feels like he can't breathe. They’ve skirted round their past until now.

“You had everything against you, both what you’d been seen to have done, but also what you’d been through, the things you’d been threatened with. I don’t think many people would have done differently, whatever they like to think.” Draco bites his lip at that, ‘ _you would_ ’ he thinks. “I mean even ‘Mione hid away her parents, right? Because she knew that if they were threatened she might give in, give up. But since then, since the War, you’ve turned yourself around in a way I didn’t think would be possible.” He looks up at Draco for the first time since he’s started talking. 

“I _really_ didn’t like you.” And that stings, despite the past tense. “Not so much for the Death Eater stuff, but for the complete arse you were at school. I was so dreading working with you on this case, but ‘Mione was insistent you were the person for the job. And I knew you and her got on great, ‘cause she’s always talking about you. So I figured I should take a chance. And I’m so glad I did. You _are_ the right person for the job, she was right on that, but I’m also glad I’ve got to know _this_ you. You’re funny, clever, a very patient teacher, great company, charming in a posh sort of way” he quirks a smile at Draco here, “and you are _brilliant_ at what you do. So, I’m glad we’ve ended up as friends. If other people can’t see who you are, people who have actually spent time with you...well. They’re clearly idiots.” 

Draco can feel the tears pricking in his eyes, Potter must surely be able to see them.“I, thank you... I...” He trails off, there’s a heavy weight in his chest that only feels like it will release after a good long sob. Potter reaches over and squeezes his arm briefly. 

He has the grace to search the case files out of his pocket and sort through them for a bit while Draco regains his composure. Once a few moments have passed Potter holds up his hand to get the attention of their waiter to order a couple of coffees, and passes Draco the new files to read.

• • + • • 

It feels like they are on the cusp of something.

A couple of new potions have come out onto the market and there is something niggling at the back of Draco’s brain that he can’t quite put his finger on. Their Potioneer seems to be getting a bit sloppy too. Potter has had the odd whisper here and there from informants that may be related.

It is a Friday, Draco usually keeps his Friday night’s clear so he can go out and pull if he feels the need, or go and out and drink if he doesn’t. But it feels like they could make a breakthrough any moment, so he’d acquiesced to Potter’s request to moving their usual Thursday long lunch to Friday evening. Ìosaph had been in town for a match yesterday and Potter had taken the day off. A rare thing, the man was a workaholic.

Draco doesn’t look up as Potter comes in, he’s writing fresh notes on the overlap between the ingredients in the new potions and the existing ones. There is still that niggle. He knows he’s missing something. Potter sits down and grabs the teapot pouring himself a cup, replacing it with a graceless thump. The troll. “There’s something here, Potter, but I’m damned if I can figure it out.” He knows his tone gives away his frustration. “I can’t see what I’m not getting, but I swear it _is_ within our grasp.”

“Fat lot of use that is, Malfoy. I know there’s something there, that’s what you’re bloody employed for. To find it. I can _NOT_ understand it quite competently on my own.” His tone is angry and frustrated.

Draco looks up. Potter looks like shit. His anger flares a little, he didn’t give up his Friday night out, and a potential fuck, to get railed at by this git just because _he_ had a bad day. There is still time to go out. He stands. “We should postpone. You’re clearly not in the mood. And now neither am _I_." He shuffles the papers into a loose stack, then pushes them away. His voice is terse, business-like. "I’ll go through these myself tomorrow, we can meet on Monday if it suits.”

Potter waves his hand at Draco, “No! I mean, yeah, we probably should. But I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have had a go at you. I know how hard you are working at this.” He drops his head into his hands, pushes his glasses up and scrubs his hands over his eyes a few times. He looks deflated. “Monday would be great, I appreciate it, Malfoy. Have a good weekend, and I’m sorry.” He gets up to leave, not looking Draco in the eye, and Draco gives himself a mental kick for being such a sap where Potter is concerned.

“I’ve got some Firewhiskey, if that would help?” He gestures at the two armchairs over in the alcove on the other side of the room. They’ve always worked at the desk before. Potter hesitates by the fire, and Draco walks over to the small cabinet and takes two glasses out, Accios the bottle of Opal Eye.

“It’s Friday night, live a little, Potter.”

\+ + + + + 

Potter’s kicked off his shoes and curled up in one of the large armchairs, his robes discarded on the desk. He’s grabbed one of the small overly stuffed cushions that sit on the chair and holds it hugged to his chest with his left arm, the whiskey in his other hand, balanced on his thigh. It strikes Draco as a particularly child like gesture, defensive. It makes him look vulnerable.

“Shit day at work?” He’s not sure Potter wants to talk about it really. Or even if he can. He knows he has plenty of other active cases he’s overseeing, beyond this one, he hopes nothing awful has happened. He remembers Hermione telling him how cut up Potter gets if one of his Aurors gets hurt, or when there is a case involving children.

“If only.” Potter’s voice cracks a little, he’s clearly trying not to cry. “Jo broke up with me today.” He knocks back a significant amount of firewhiskey in one go, “Or I suppose I broke up with him, I guess.” He looks up at Draco, then back down at his glass. “He’s been shagging the team physio since November.” That’s 4 months. That’s since before the Granger-Weasley’s house warming party when he saw them together. “God! I’m such an idiot. We went away for Valentine’s Day and he got an owl during dinner. He was smiling when he read it, but he waved it off as work stuff. It must have been _him_. Fuck!” Draco leans over and pours more whiskey in Potter’s glass. Then tops up his own.

“You said you broke up with him? Stone didn’t want that?” Draco’s not sure he really wants to hear this, but Potter looks like he could do with talking about it. Bloody Granger and Weasley are away for the weekend. The terrifying Weasley grandmother had finally persuaded Ron to let the kids stay over with her and Weasley Snr for a full weekend. He’d pushed Hermione to get Ron to accept the offer at the time, now he’s regretting it. Otherwise he could have shoved the man in their direction.

“He begged me to forgive him. Said that he just ‘ _couldn’t live with it on his conscience any longer_ ’, he ‘ _never meant for it to happen_ ’, etc, bloody, etc.” He sounds mocking as he quotes Jo’s words. “On a bit more questioning it turns out he’d _actually_ only come clean because the team bosses had found out. It’s against team rules to have intra-team relationships like that, unless management have cleared it. And clearly they hadn’t been able to ask for that. The physio has been transferred, Jo is getting benched for the next two games and heavily fined. It will be all over the papers by Monday, no doubt.” He groans. “I guess he thought if we were still together, if I had been seen to forgive him, then it would look better on him. So he threw _Chris_ to the wolves, and himself on my mercy. I don’t know if I’m more angry with myself, or him.” He isn’t about to let Potter put this on himself.

“Him, it should definitely be him.” Draco rejoins. Potter throws him a tearful smile for that.

“I mean, things had got a bit shit, I knew that. We’d hardly managed to see each other recently, we’re both so busy. But we had a good Christmas, what _I thought_ was a great time at Valentine’s, and I was there for his birthday night out the other week. Christ! I’ve just remembered, I bought that prick Chris like _three_ fucking pints that night. Jesus, he stood there having a fucking conversation with me for ages, just bloody chatted away nice-as-pie, all the while knowing he’d been boning my boyfriend for months.”

“Complete prick. Hate him already, and I’ve never even met him.” This time he gets a small soggy laugh.

“Fuck knows how many of his team mates knew. Just watching me make a twat of myself. I feel like such a fool, Draco.” He thinks this is the first time Potter has used his given name, and he wishes it wasn’t like this. “He led me on for months. We shagged last night, for fucksake, even though he knew he’d be telling me this morning. It would be our one year anniversary next week. I’d already bought his present, from that new jewellers in Hogsmeade.” Draco knows the one. Very expensive and exclusive. He starts up a chant in his head _Please let it not have been a ring, please let it not have been a ring._. “I’d got him a bracelet. This nice steel torc, engraved with a sappy quote about flying from his favourite fucking poet. Who I hate.”

“Melt it down. Get it made into a boot scraper.” Harry does a proper laugh at that one. 

“You’re awful.” Harry’s half laughing, half crying.

“No, _he’s_ awful. Him and his overly handsy Healer.” That sets Harry off into one of those spirals of laughing that is almost impossible to get out of, but he’s also still half crying. Draco can’t help but join in. At least with the laughter.

“Oh, God! I can’t breathe.” Harry has put his glass down and is wiping his eyes, the laughter subsiding. Some of the tension has gone from his shoulders.

Draco stands, claps his hands together, “Right. This calls for the big hexes.” Harry looks up at him. His eyes are red rimmed, but he manages a quizzical smile. “Out to a club to get right royally rat-arsed, or stay in with beer and Indian takeaway?”

“Takeaway sounds perfect. If you’re sure? Sorry. This was meant to be be work, and then I come and cry all over you, and _then_ drink your booze.”

Draco wanders off to get a menu for his favourite Indian restaurant. “Oh, don’t worry, you’re paying for the takeaway. And I insist on peshwari naan. And mixed pickles.”

\+ + + + + 

“Oh my God! This is amazing.” Harry has his feet out on a little footstool. His hands are splayed out on his stomach. “I may never be able to go out on active duty again. How the fuck do you stay so slim with that place just round the corner?” They had retired upstairs to Draco’s living room proper once the takeaway had arrived. Draco’s never invited him up to his flat before, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him sat in his space. He’s regretting it a little but he tells himself it is more suited to a full meal up here than with the few bits and pieces he keep downstairs for lunch and snacks.

He gestures to his plate, which still contains some food, and then to Harry’s empty one. “Moderation, Potter. Some of us can control ourselves.” He wants to bite his tongue immediately, he’s heard about the lack of food in the man’s childhood. Harry doesn’t seem to take offence though, just quirks him a drunk grin.

“Yeah, self sacrifice isn’t my strong point. Well no, it is.” He looks confused. “Obviously! When it comes to like dying and stuff. But not curry. You can’t expect me to deny myself curry. Right?” He looks at Draco for confirmation.

“Not even Voldemort himself would expect such a thing, I’m sure.” he reassures. Draco is a quite drunk he realises. He only gets flip about the Dark Lord when he’s pissed, and usually only ever when he’s with Blaise or Pansy.

“Merlin, he is such a prick.”

Draco looks over at Potter. Tries to focus. “Voldemort? Not gonna argue on that one.” He points, he’s not quite sure what at.

“No! Jo! Jo is a prick. Well, Tom Riddle too. But, I mean. Do you seriously let a guy get you off. Twice, I might add, over an extended period of time. Do you do that the night before you tell him you’ve been fucking around on him?” He’s blinking at his beer bottle.

Draco thinks carefully and, he realises, probably quite slowly. He looks back at Potter. “Maybe Chris is shit in bed? Jo wanted another go, or two, on you before you inevitably kicked him off the ramparts?”

“Then why fuck around on me? What’s so special about Chris?” Suddenly Potter looks morose. “Why do they leave, Draco? What is it? Why do they all leave?”

Draco is just about sober enough to understand that it isn’t just a question about Stone, or even previous partners, but he’s also just drunk enough not to be able to deal with the bigger picture right now. He tries to figure out an answer. “He’s a prick!” He answers decisively. “And he’s weak on his left side, which leaves him open to attack from the opposing team’s beaters.”

Harry sits up quickly. “He fucking is! I kept suggesting we work on his left side, but he never took any notice!”

Draco waves his hand in what he intends to be an I-told-you-so motion, “Because he’s a prick.”

• • + • • 

Draco is sifting through the papers from last night, his head is still slightly fuzzy around the edges. He prefers to only use a light hangover potion himself. Although the effects aren’t as robust on the symptoms he finds it leaves him less dehydrated in the long run. There’s probably also some self-flagellation involved, for letting himself get in such a state. At least he can blame Harry for this one. Or possibly Ìosaph. The prick.

He gazes at the documents spread in front of him, slightly out of focus. Tea, he needs tea. Coffee would probably be more effective, but the thought makes his stomach roil. 

As he’s propped against the worktop in his tiny office kitchen, watching the steam curl up from the kettle as it comes to the boil, a thought strikes him. He rushes back through to the office and uses a highlighting spell as he goes though each potions breakdown. Merlin. That’s what he’s not been seeing. He scribbles off a hasty note to Harry and runs upstairs to give it to his owl. This could give them the edge they need.

• • + • • 

It feels like an interminable wait. The next few weeks crawl by. The only flurry of excitement is the press catching wind of Harry and Stone’s split, then tearing the chaser apart for it. Draco struggles to feel sorry for the man.

They know what they are looking for now on the case, but until they get another informant lead on location then there is nothing much they can do. Draco falls back into his routine of having lunch with Hermione and Harry on a Thursday. On Friday nights he and Harry more often than not have Indian takeaway at his flat. Sometimes on a Tuesday Harry comes round for coffee and they talk through the case notes. They avoid talking about professional Quidditch. He’s getting used to how Harry looks in his flat, in his life, and he half wishes he’d never let him in. He doesn’t know what his life will look like once the case is over.

• • + • • 

It is a Monday when he gets the owl. He’s part way through a class with the children of the new French ambassador. They have all been attending Beauxbatons but the Ambassador is transferring them to Hogwarts, she thinks it will look better politically. They’ll be starting next week and his job is to alert them to the differences in the curriculum, note the areas where they might be ahead, and to tutor them on those where they may be behind. The Ambassador is sat in the small seating area, having tea and filling in their enrolment forms, when a Ministry owl taps at the window. She clearly recognises it as an official owl, looking intrigued. “Est-ce important, M. Malfoy?” He throws the owl a treat, hastily pulling open the letter. He pales as he reads.

“Qui vivra verra.” He feels a flash of excitement, this could be it. He desperately wants to rush off to the Auror Department immediately, but it wouldn’t do in the circumstances. “I’ve been consulting for the Aurors on a tricky case, and there has been a significant development that they wanted to inform me of.” He moves to get a parchment and quill. The Ministry owl is waiting for a reply. “I hope you’ll excuse me for a moment Madame Ambassador? I just need to write a reply to Harry, then I’ll get back to the lesson.” He’s not above some delicate name dropping if it might help excuse him being so distracted.

\+ + + + + 

Draco comes rushing round the corner into the desked area outside the door to Harry’s office. There is no one there, and Harry’s door is locked with no answer. The nearest area of cubicles, where this case’s assigned Auror team sit, is empty. As is a lot of the rest of the room. “The Guv stepped out about an hour ago, Mr Malfoy. They all left together. Took another three teams with them”, calls one of the other Aurors further down the room. The Auror nods his head towards the incident room for the case, the door is ajar. Draco nods back his thanks, then walks over to wait inside the room. He finds himself pacing up and down. Harry had been a bit coy in his wording in the letter, but it sounded significant.

Four teams is a lot, he thinks. There must have been a credible threat. Maybe four teams isn’t a lot? Is it enough? The potion ring must have significant protection, it is undoubtedly a tidy little money making operation, all told. He curses owls as a shit method of communication. What is wrong with portable telephones, or those communication box things the Muggle police carry?

\+ + + + + 

He hears the teams coming back in. He can’t tell from the general tone whether it is good or bad, but it is certainly loud. Moving to stand, he stares at the door waiting for something to happen. He’s not sure he wants to know. About Harry, or about the case.

“Incident Room 1 for you, Guv.”

He lets out a sigh of relief from a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

Harry swings into the room, jubilant, grin plastered across his face. Draco grins back. He stalks across to Draco and grabs him by the shoulders. “You! Little! Beauty!” He pulls Draco down and presses a loud smacking kiss to his forehead. He pulls back, dropping his hands, still grinning widely. As he looks at Draco’s eyes his breath seems to falter, and his smile drops a little. To Draco it feels like the air is treacle, he couldn’t move a muscle if he wanted to. They hang frozen like that for a millisecond, or maybe an hour, he can’t tell.

A head pops through the door. “Guv? We’ve put him in Interview Room 6. The others are in the holding cells. All processed separately like you asked. None of them has seen the others.

“Yeah, great, thanks Calum.” He’s raised his voice in reply, but he’s not looked away from Draco. He drops his volume. “I need to, um. I have to go. I can’t... I need to go supervise the interrogation.” He swallows, licks his lips. “You were right. About the next type of potion in the sequence. As soon as we got the tip off from the importer this morning we were able to put it together.”

“Great. I’m glad.” To his own ears his voice sounds flat. He can’t look away, doesn’t want to break this moment because he doesn’t know what comes after.

“Guv?”

Harry turns and looks at the Auror, it seems to flip a switch in him. “Yeah, I’ll be there in five. Can you get Dan and Beth on the others? Individual statements one by one starting with the muscle on the door, then the witch and wizard in the outer rooms, then the witch who was in the lab with him. Is the Duty Magi-Legal here yet?” Calum nods, “Great. We’re looking specifically for details from the others that places him at the other crimes scenes we’ve found, we’ll move onto other stuff later. Get forensics down too. Fingerprints, signatures, Prior on their wands, potion residue, the lot. Run anything you can through our liason at Muggle CID as soon as you can. I’ll send authorisation to Samira in a minute. Crime scene is still under stasis?”

“Yes, Guv.” The Auror, Calum, looks at Draco. “Nice work, Mr Malfoy.” Harry gives him a last searching look, then he’s following Calum out of the room.

• • + • • 

Tuesday night. They don’t always do something on a Tuesday night. And neither of them has sent on owl. Besides, the case is closed now. He’ll be required to prepare evidence for Legal, but right now all he can do is wait for their call. Maybe he’ll be needed to analyse evidence, but Bryce will probably do that anyway. And they don’t always do something on a Tuesday. He pads across the room barefoot, realises he’s not got a clue what he’s doing over here and turns back.

He’s changed twice, switching from something more formal to casual and back again, got out the firewhiskey and two glasses and put them on the side table, then levitated them away. Maybe he should have got champagne, to celebrate. Although there is no way of knowing whether he’s coming. He’s probably busy. They don’t always do something on a Tuesday night. And now the case is done.

Merlin, his head is all over the place. He curses himself. He’s better than this.

He runs that moment through his head again. Harry’s bright eyes as he strode across the room, the sheer joy on his face infecting Draco’s mood. The slide of his eyes across his face after that stupid playful kiss. The way it felt like he was cataloguing every atom of him. No, he can’t think like that. He shakes his head, Harry had just been on a high after solving the case. He lets out a frustrated groan. He’s been second guessing himself since he got home yesterday evening.

He needs to pull himself together. He’s going to have a firewhiskey, file the mess of papers in here. Then he’ll go upstairs, sit down in his living room, eat some leftover beef stew, read something escapist for a bit, and then turn in. He needs to stop being so melodramatic and lovelorn. He turns away from the desk to Accio his favourite glass from the drinks cabinet, when the Floo flares.

Harry steps forward, ducking his head under the mantle as he emerges from the fireplace. As his eyes sweep across the room they stop on Draco, who has frozen in place. Harry walks towards him. It seems so slow, and Draco counts every footstep as Harry makes his way across to him. He looks resolute, predatory, and at the last second Draco finds himself backing away until his arse makes contact with the table behind him. He’s no idea why. He doesn’t want to go anywhere.

Harry is right in front of him now, and he’s giving him that look again, the same one from the incident room. Like he’s both looking at him for the first time, but also knows every scrap of him already. He reaches up a hand, and trails the back of his index finger across Draco’s face from ear to chin. Draco tilts his head towards it, and Harry pushes his whole hand back across his jaw this time, the tips of his fingers pushing into his hair. As he presses closer Draco perches back on the table edge, drops his legs open so Harry can stand between them.

Draco isn’t sure what this is, whether this is a celebration, a goodbye, or the start of something, but right now he doesn’t give a damn. Harry tugs on his hair a little to angle his head and then he’s kissing Draco. When Draco has imagined this, in the dead of night, he’s imagined it fast and full of fire, a battle of teeth and tongues, a mirror to how they were when they were younger. In his more wistful moments he’s pictured the everyday kisses of those who spend their lives together: soft, brief, given in laughter, received as an apology, over tea and toast, over the papers, on coming home from work. 

He never imagined it like this though. Harry is kissing him like he wants to learn who he is. It’s exploratory, demanding. His lips are ghosting over Draco’s so softly, mapping every line. Even when he deepens the kiss it still feels like a question. Draco can feel himself melting into it as Harry moves on from his mouth to his neck, his collar bone, back to his brow, the side of his nose. He’s never been one for being passive during sex, even when he’s the one getting fucked he always pushes back, always demands. Now though he wants whatever Harry’s giving, doesn’t want to demand a thing.

Harry drops his forehead to Draco’s. Runs his hand through Draco’s hair. He can see a small smile on Harry’s face, he looks like he’s been given a gift. Draco can’t quite believe that he’s the one to put that look there. “God, you’re so good.” They’re the first words Harry has said since he’s got here, and Draco can feel himself basking in them.

He turns his head to the side, so his breath washes across Harry’s ear. He can feel him shudder, and his hands come up to grip Draco’s waist as he whispers to Harry, “I can be, for you. I want to.” And then with a groan Harry’s mouth is back on him, harder this time, his tongue pushing into Draco’s mouth. His hands have dropped to Draco’s hips, pinning him in place against his desk.

His lungs are burning before Harry pushes away, out of the kiss. He’s still got his hands on Draco’s hips as he drops down onto his knees between his legs. He gently undoes Draco’s belt. Unbuttons his fly. He peels Draco’s trousers down his legs and sets them on a chair beside them. Draco lets him. Just watches. Harry smoothes both hands up Draco’s thighs, slides them up over his hip bones, squeezing. He hooks his index fingers inside the waistband of Draco’s tight boxers and looks up at him. Draco nods, minutely. He pushes himself forward from the table again so that Harry can pull his underwear down. 

Harry is still fully dressed. He’s in more formal Auror attire, he’s probably been in meetings all day. The trousers are a dark red, so dark as to be almost black. The shirt is crisp, white. Fine matte and satin weave alternates across the fabric, tiny buttons hold the corners of the collar sharply in place. The tie has been lost as some point before he came here, top button of the shirt undone. He still wears his Auror robes, the dark red heavy wool is pooled around him as he kneels at Draco’s feet. He shrugs them off his shoulders, lets them drop behind him to the floor. Draco can hear the squeak of the leather of his shoes as he moves closer.

Harry’s hands are back on Draco’s hips, pinning him. Draco drops his head back and stares at the ceiling. He thinks he should be a little disconcerted by how much he’s enjoying feeling claimed. He’s never wanted anyone to own him before. Plenty have wanted to.

Harry is nuzzled into the crease at the top of Draco’s thigh. "Look at me,” the words are whispered against his skin there. Draco drops his head back down to find Harry looking up at him. Harry smiles, licks a stripe up the side of his cock. When he gets to the head he takes it into his mouth and sucks, circling his tongue around. His eyes drop closed, he’s just lightly sucking the head, small muffled noises of enjoyment coming from him as he does. He pulls back kisses the head and looks up at Draco again before taking off his glasses, dropping them down on the chair on top of Draco’s trousers. 

It probably means he can see very little at all now. He knows how blind Harry is. Draco can see _his_ eyes though. They are staring up at him as he sucks Draco’s cock back into his mouth, deeper this time. He bobs his head, hollowing his cheeks, he brings one of his hands round to grip the base of Draco’s cock his lips coming to meet his fist as he sucks on and off. Draco thinks the sight and feel of it might actually drive him insane.

Harry slides off with a pop, whispers something Draco can’t quite hear, then licks around the head, pushing his tongue into his slit. Draco’s toes curl as Harry laves his tongue back down the underside, before moving back up to suck him back into his mouth. His hand’s gone now, his mouth sliding almost down the base, Harry’s nose nestling for a second in his curls before sucking back off again.

He feels Harry’s slick finger sliding back along his perineum, and he lets out an honest to Merlin whine as he widens his legs to allow Harry better access. He decides he truly does love Potion Theory. He would have never ended up here if he wasn’t so good at his job. He probably also owes Hermione a year's subscription to the esoteric international journal of her choice.

The finger circles his hole, hand palm upwards, then dips gently in and then back out again to continue the circle round. All the while Harry is sucking his cock, gently sliding his mouth back and forth. His tongue is undulating, caressing the underside of Draco’s cock. It is tortuous. Usually he would have taken some control by now, a hand in his partner’s hair to guide him, maybe a thrust of the hips to get deeper, faster. He feels directionless, adrift. It is blissful. He doesn’t have to think, he can just feel.

The finger is back again, pushing deeper now. Harry is timing the thrusts of his finger with the slide of his lips. A second one joins the first, stretching him. He crooks his fingers and Draco falls forward slightly with a grunt, steadying himself with a tight grip on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry hums around his cock, and starts to circle his fingers around inside. The stretch of his fingers circling against his rim is perfect, the pads of his fingers against his prostate is intense. Draco has no idea how long Harry’s had his mouth on him already, but he thinks he’d happily let this go on forever.

Harry pulls out his two fingers, and then slides three back in. “Fuck. Oh, Merlin.” He’s still got a tight grip on Harry’s shoulder as the man speeds up his mouth and tongue. He’s making beautiful little noises, hums and small moans, as if Draco is the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Then he can feel it, hitting him seemingly out of nowhere. “Harry, oh gods. Harry.” Harry groans his approval and his free hand grabs onto Draco’s arse to pull him closer so Draco has no option but to come, hard, in his mouth. He’s breathing hard as Harry pulls his fingers out carefully and stands. He looks very pleased with himself, and so he should, thinks Draco. He wastes no time in pulling Draco into his arms, kissing him possessively again. Draco delves his tongue into Harry’s mouth delighting in finding the bitter taste of his own come.

He’s still not sure what this is, what they are. Harry is making quick work of Draco’s shirt buttons as he kisses him, it seems he wants Draco a bit closer to naked, even though he is still almost completely dressed himself. Draco can live with that.

Draco finds himself suddenly spun round in Harry’s arms then given a gentle push. Now he’s got his palms flat on the desk, bent over, with Harry pushing the shirt up to kiss up his back, pushing the collar aside to suck on his shoulder. Harry moves back and his hands slide down his sides, over the globes of his arse. Harry pulls them gently apart, and Draco finds himself instinctively leaning forward further to give Harry a better view. He feels like he should be embarrassed. Maybe a better man would be. Then he can feel Harry’s breath on his arsehole, hears him whisper “Perfect” before he licks a wet stripe over Draco’s hole. 

“Fucking hell!” he gusts out. He hears Harry laugh, feels it too. As his tongue moves away he finds himself following it, pushing up onto his tip toes. “Please!” The tongue is back again then, and he sags down onto the desk again. Another whisper of half-heard words against his arse, then he feels fabric winding round his wrists and stretching his arms across to the far side of the desk. He widens his legs as Harry begins to tongue and suck his arse in earnest.

He doesn’t realise he’s set up a litany made of Harry’s name and ‘please’ until Harry finally stands, kissing his back again. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” He dips his fingers briefly back inside Draco’s arsehole, it’s dripping now from lube and Harry’s tongue. He hears Harry undo his zip, whisper the words of a protection spell. Feels the nudge of the head of his cock against his rim. He pushes up on his toes again, pressing back as far as he can while restrained until the head pushes inside him. They both groan at the same time. Harry pulls out a little, pushes back in, this time a bit further. He keeps up a steady rhythm, each thrust taking him deeper until he’s flush against him. It is slow and lazy, and oh _so_ good. Draco’s hardening by the second as his cock rubs maddeningly across the surface of the desk with each movement. He realises the absurdity of the fact that he’s got Harry’s cock in him, yet he hasn’t even got a look at it yet.

He pulls a little at his bonds, not really to try and free himself, just to find the limits of his movement. Harry’s hands come up to massage Draco’s wrists. “You good?” Draco nods, pushes himself back onto Harry’s cock again, then rocks forward. “You look it. So good.” Harry is speeding up now and Draco tries to meet him thrust for thrust. “So perfect.” He’s circling his hips a bit with each push in, hardly pulling out now, just grinding harder against him. “You tasted perfect too. Every bit of you.” He’s got his fingers splayed out round Draco’s rib cage now, pulling him back towards him slightly on each short fast thrust. Draco can feel his orgasm building. He doesn’t think he’s been able to manage that so quickly since he was eighteen.

Harry drapes himself fully over Draco’s back, kisses the nape of his neck as he snakes a hand around to take a firm hold of his cock. Then Harry stills, panting against his skin, and Draco feels his orgasm ebb away a little. Harry is peppering little kisses across Draco’s neck. His left hand is under Draco’s shirt rubbing up and down his side, skimming down over his hips then up again. He whines, pushes himself back on Harry’s cock again. Harry protests, “A minute, I just need a minute. I nearly... I want to make this so good for you.”

“It is. You are. Fuck. Please.” Harry starts wanking him in long firm movements, rubbing his thumb over the slit when he gets to the head. Draco can feel his orgasm approaching again, feel it in the base of his spine, in the way his thighs are tensing. “Fuck. Harry. Please.” He pushes back onto Harry again, tries to get him to move and this time he complies.

The movements of Harry’s hips are matching his hand on Draco’s cock as they get faster, and Draco can feel the muscles of his arsehole starting to flutter as he begins to come. Harry’s cursing as he fucks Draco through it, before he thrusts hard one last time into Draco and then stills, his face buried between Draco’s shoulder blades, his lips resting on his skin in a kiss.

\+ + + + + 

Harry is oh _so_ careful with him as he vanishes the conjured fabric ropes. He kisses his wrists, whispers soothing spells, gathers him up in his arms, and sits him on the edge of the table. Draco is pretty sure he’ll never be able to look at this desk the same way again. He’s probably leaking Harry’s come all over it right this second. All of a sudden he feels very naked, very unsure, despite Harry’s solicitous behaviour. The papers always painted him as a playboy, before Stone. Draco thinks he knows the real truth, but it still niggles at him all the same.

“You’re overdressed.” His voice sounds clipped, peevish, accusatory. Harry laughs, picks up Draco’s clothes, pops his own glasses back on, picks up his own Auror robes. He leans over and kisses him, and Draco can still taste himself in Harry’s mouth.

“Maybe we should take this to a bed then? Upstairs, or to mine?” Harry’s eyes are warm, and he’s got that delighted look on his face again as he tucks a bit of Draco’s hair back off his face. It makes Draco hope, but the desk is already ruined and he’s not sure he can take the heartbreak of knowing what Harry looks like in his bed, if this turns out to be a short lived thing. He’d have to burn it. Or maybe move.

“Yours.” He pulls on his clothes. He’s never been to Harry’s, this way at least he’ll gets a glimpse of his life. Outside of this building and the Ministry, and what he has seen in the papers. There’s has only been Romano’s otherwise.

\+ + + + + 

They sit on the worktops in Harry’s kitchen and eat fruit and yoghurt. Harry toasts some crumpets, but they let them go cold again while they kiss. When an elderly house elf appears and starts scolding ‘Master Harry’ for 'befouling' his kitchen they retreat to the bedroom, Harry laughing and apologising. Draco lets Harry undress him and pull him under the covers to sleep. 

\+ + + + + 

When he wakes a few hours later he can see a few stars through the open curtain. He studies Harry’s face in the light that spills in from the street outside. Stroking his fingers lightly across Harry’s face, he tries to remember every line, every mark. He hopes against hope that this stands up to the cold light of day, but he feels he’s got to be realistic. As he carries on dancing his fingertips over his face Harry twitches and murmurs.

Eventually he stirs and, eyes still closed, pulls Draco down into his arms, making a satisfied sound. Draco wonders if in his half asleep state he remembers who is here in his bed. Harry rolls over, pulls Draco underneath him. “Your toes are freezing, you pointy git.” Draco lets out a laugh of relief. Harry finally opens his eyes at that, props himself up above Draco. “You OK?” Draco nods, smiles up at him. Harry presses himself down to kiss him and Draco can feel he is hard against his thigh. He opens his legs for Harry to settle down between them, pulls him firmly down on top of himself to kiss him more thoroughly. “Oh, yeah?” Harry asks with a smirk in his voice as they break apart.

Harry fingers him open again, faster this time. The quick fuck that follows is more like he’d imagined they would be. Harry pins his arms above his head as he fucks into him hard, and Draco fights him, biting at Harry’s lips as he kisses him, at his neck and shoulders. His legs fold round Harry holding him in place as he rolls up to meet each thrust. He knows he’s left marks from his bites. They fall back asleep with Harry’s arm slung possessively over Draco’s waist.

• • + • • 

When he wakes next, it is with the sun streaming in the window, and Harry wrapped up in _his_ arms. Harry’s lying curled up under his left armpit, back pressed firmly to Draco’s front. All Draco can see in front of him is dark sex-tousled hair. He pushes his nose into it. His right hand is resting at Harry’s waist. He slides it down over his hip, down the flank of his arse letting his hand settle there. Auror training really has done wonders for him, more desk duty or no. Harry makes a happy noise and pushes his arse back to nestle into Draco’s crotch. He can feel himself hardening as Harry snuggles back. Clearly so can Harry, as he grinds against him a little, letting out a low and gravelly ‘morning’.

“Morning.” He kisses the nape of Harry’s neck, then bites it. Harry groans, grinds back into him a little harder. He can see all the nips and bites he gave him last night, laid out on his skin. Barely audible, Draco whispers the incantation to conjure lube. It’s one of the spells most wizards can do wandless. Usually by the time they are 14. He shuffles away a little, earning himself a dissatisfied groan from Harry. He slides a finger tentatively down Harry’s crack and over his hole. Harry flinches away, and Draco freezes.

He reaches back and grabs Draco’s wrist. “Fuck! Have you never heard of a warming charm?” Draco feels the warmth spread over his fingertips as Harry mutters under his breath. He drops his wrist and turns his back on Draco again. He’s rolled half on his front, his head now pillowed on his folded arms. Draco hesitates a little, but then relaxes as Harry gives his arse a cheeky little shimmy and a muffled ‘get to it’.

Draco moves closer again and more confidently slides his finger inbetween Harry’s arse cheeks. He ghosts over his hole, then slides forward to his perineum, kneading it gently with his knuckle. He slides his other hand under Harry and cups his half hard cock. He draws his slicked finger back and presses the pad of it against Harry’s hole again. Harry is making pleased little moans. He’s so tight. “You want me to finger this fine arse of yours, Harry?” He rubs back and forth across his hole, covering it with lube. He goes back to applying pressure with the pad of his finger, circling gently. As he continues he can feel Harry relaxing. “Do you?”

“I think you can tell I want that. I want that and more.” Draco slips the tip of his finger inside Harry, “Fuck. Yes. It’s just been a while, so go slow.” 

“How long?” He slides his finger in, twists it round before pulling it almost all the way back out, just to repeat the motion again. He waits until Harry starts to talk and then applies gentle pressure to his prostate.

“Abo- Fuck! Bastard. You seriously expect me to do the maths right now?” Draco laughs. This feels so right, so easy between them. “Ngh. About four years, give or take.” A wave of emotion comes over Draco, a mix of joy, jealousy and triumph.

“Then I better make sure I make a thorough job of it then, hadn’t I?”

\+ + + + + 

By the time he’s got three fingers in Harry the man is a mess. He’s rolling his arse back to meet the thrusts of Draco’s hand, both hands pushing against the headboard, back sheened with sweat. His head is on one side, eyes closed. He looks like he’s in ecstasy. “You could come like this, couldn’t you? Just from me fucking you with my fingers.” Harry groans and rubs his cock down onto the duvet beneath him. “Do you want to?” He twists the pads of his fingers to brush across Harry’s prostate, gives a light tap with one. Harry’s hips judder forward in response, even while he’s shaking his head.

“No, No, I want. Fuck. Draco. I want you in me.” Draco slides his fingers out of him, which earns him a moan. He slicks his own cock and slides it up and down between Harry’s arse cheeks, the head hitting Harry in the small of the back on each slow plush forward. Harry makes a plaintive noise. Taking hold of his cock he rubs the tip over Harry’s hole. He can see it fluttering and contracting. “Please.” He reaches out one hand to get a finger tip on his wand and casts the protection spell even as he's pushing his hips forward and the tip pushes inside. Harry is still so tight. He pushes his left arm back under Harry’s chest, the right wrapping over to meet it in an embrace. He rolls back, Harry spooned in front of him. He pushes his hips forward, slides inside him a little further.

Draco cranes his head forward and angles Harry’s face so he can kiss him messily. He strokes the fingers of the arm wrapped under him across Harry’s nipple, plays with it until Harry is gasping. They fit together so perfectly, Harry’s shorter frame caged by Draco’s long limbs. Harry starts to rhythmically push himself back onto Draco, forcing him deeper inside. Draco lets Harry control it, talks him through it. “That’s it. Fuck yourself on me. Fill yourself up.” The slick slide of his cock is easier in Harry now, but he continues to hold himself still through the long minutes that follow. It’s a very sweet kind of torture. “You going to fuck me until I come, Harry? Fuck yourself on my cock until I fill you up. Until it’s dripping out of you.”

Harry grabs his own cock at that, he’s fucking himself fast between his hand and Draco now. Low moans fall from his mouth. It’s an uneven rhythm, Draco can tell he’s close. He puts his hands on Harry’s hips to help, keeps his own body still as he helps steady the other man’s movements. He looks down to watch his cock disappearing again and again into Harry's tight hole. Then Harry’s coming, tightening exquisitely around his cock as he does. Draco can’t help but make a thrust forwards as he feels himself tipping over the edge too.

They lie for a while with Draco’s arms still wound around Harry. Neither of them have said anything yet. Harry’s head is tipped to the side onto Draco’s shoulder, his eyes closed. He’s drawing small patterns on Draco’s arms. As his finger tips skate unknowingly over the skin where his faded Dark Mark sits, Draco tenses up. Yesterday in his office, over the desk, he’d had his shirt on still. Last night in Harry’s bed, there had been only the silver light from the moon lighting their frantic movements. Now there is sunlight to light the glaring reminder of their horrific shared past. What the fuck does he think he’s doing?

Harry must be able to sense the change in his posture. He opens his eyes, and tips his head back to claim a kiss, smiling into it. Draco barely returns it, and Harry pulls back confused. As he does so Draco sits up and pulls his arms from around Harry’s torso. His mind is racing. This is all he could possibly ask for, but how could it ever work? His heart can’t take Harry looking at him like that. Kissing him like that. Not when sooner or later every article in the Prophet that references him will be able to tack ‘former love interest of Harry Potter” onto the end of his usual “reformed Death Eater” handle. They’ll speculate about what Harry ever saw in him, and even he won’t be able to find the answer. He swings his legs down over the side of the bed and stands.

“Draco?”

“I’d better let you get ready.” He casts Tempus. “You’ll be late for work otherwise and I’m sure wrapping up the case is giving you plenty to do.” He’s gathering his clothes up, not looking at Harry. “I’m happy to help out of course, if Bryce needs another pair of eyes on it. And I’ll write up my notes more formally for use in the prosecution.”

“You’re not...I thought...we can have breakfast here. Before you have to go? He may look grumpy, but Kreacher makes a mean bacon roll.” Harry’s aiming for light-hearted, he can tell, but it is falling rather flat.

“It’s OK. I’ll grab something at my office.” He risks a look at Harry. He’s sat cross legged on the bed. As Draco watches he draws the duvet up around him protectively. Draco can still see the marks he made on his neck and shoulders last night. Draco’s dressed now, or at least as dressed as he was when he tumbled through the Floo last night. He walks over to Harry and kisses him softly, runs his hand through his hair. “I’ll maybe see you for lunch on Thursday.” He doesn’t look back as he walks out of the room.

• • + • • 

It is Thursday at about 2pm when the Floo next lights up. “You fucking cold hearted piece of shit!” Hermione slams into the room like a furious whirlwind. She rarely swears, but she’s making up for it now. “I thought you were a better man than this now, Draco. But this is fucking low. I’ve stood up for you, praised you. Dropped your name around the Ministry like bloody confetti. Fuck, I was even the one who recommended Harry work with you, but this? This I can’t defend. I think we might be fucking done.”

At this point she stops and looks around the room. It is covered in tiny piles of ash. Draco is sat in one of the office armchairs, used firewhiskey glass at his elbow, the bottle almost empty. There’s a takeaway box on the floor, mostly still full of uneaten chow mein. Most of his papers and books lie on the floor on the far side of the desk. The surface of the desk itself is scorched. He launches another little paper plane into the air with this wand, then Incendios it mid-flight. The ash falls heavily to the floor in a clump. “Sorry I missed lunch. I just needed a bit of time to myself.” He should have locked the Floo. _Maybe you wanted a visitor_ his treacherous brain supplies. Just not this one.

Hermione drops down into the chair opposite him, after whisking away the ash with a Scourgify. She’s looking at him warily now, rather than angrily. “What the fuck happened, Draco?”

“I rather thought from your entrance that you already knew?”

Hermione looks around the room. “I thought I did. But now I’m not quite so sure.”

\+ + + + + 

Hermione somewhat sets his classroom to rights. There is less ash now, and his things are piled up on the desk. She’s removed the whisky and takeaway. Replaced it with some tea and biscuits. She’s sat there in the chair opposite again, looking at him. Waiting. “What?” He realises he’s being childish, petulant, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“What? Weeks of potions case based foreplay come to a head, then you just walk out with a ‘see you at lunch’? Then you don’t even bloody turn up for lunch? He was glancing at the door every 30 seconds for the first half hour. When I finally got him to open up about what had happened I had to throw up a disillusionment charm. He was a mess, Draco.” She looks angry again.

“Better now, in private, than in a week or a month in public.” He’s not sure be believes himself. 

“He thought...from what he said.” She blushes, glances at the table. “He didn’t go into _too_ much detail” her expression gives away the fact that he said more than enough, “but, well, he said he thought it was more than a shag. That it meant something. He doesn’t just trust anyone to...He was happy. And then you just left. Dropped him like you and he were nothing.”

The questions echo round his memory. _‘Why do they leave, Draco? What is it?’_ He hates himself. He owes Harry an explanation at least, but he doesn’t think he can face him. He’s such a shit. “He must hate me.”

“No. And I think that’s why I’m so fucking mad at you. If you’d shagged and it hadn’t worked out, then well, it would be awkward. But you are both grown men, and it wouldn’t be much of my business.” It’s never stopped her before. “But you made him think you cared. I don’t know what you said, or did, but he got the impression you wanted him. Wanted more than a quick fuck across your desk. Now, he doesn’t know what to think. That you were actually toying with him? Using him? That this is some kind of petty revenge? Or worse, that you think it didn’t mean anything to him? That you actually aren’t the friend he thought you were?”

He can’t handle the thought he has made HArry doubt him that way. “What I _think_ is that it’s a terrible idea, Hermione. Can’t you see that? How the hell would that work out? Just because I want him, doesn’t mean to say I can have him. Doesn’t mean to say I deserve him.” His chest feels tight. “Can you imagine the shit he’d get? From the press, from the Ministry. His family. You and I are friends now, Weasley and I manage to be in the same room on occasion. But Mrs Weasley? Longbottom? You think Ginevra will greet me kindly if I walk into a room, hand in hand with Harry?”

Hermione snorts. “You might be surprised. She always disliked Jo, but that was from before he and Harry even got together. When they first dated she said he was ‘no match’ for him, that she didn’t think he, what was it? ‘ _had the mental or emotional capacity to understand him, nor the strength of mind to be the partner he needed_ ’. Odd as it may seem I think she might think differently of you, on those counts at least.”

He shakes his head. “It’s a fantasy. I can’t do it to him. I’ll get my claws in him, and then I won’t want to let go. It would be a disaster.” He feels like he’s arguing against himself now, rather than her. “Besides, I’ve fucked it up already. Before it even had a chance to get started.”

Hermione puts her cup back on the tray. Vanishes the biscuit crumbs off her top. She stands and walks towards the Floo. “I rather think that’s his decision to make, don’t you? Give him that. It’s the least you can do.”

• • + • • 

They agree to meet on neutral ground. A small quiet Muggle cafe in the middle of the day. Ostensibly Draco has billed it as a chance for them to clear the air. He wonders if begging desperately for a second chance falls under that heading.

News of the potions case has broken which means there is now an awkward press photo forever on file with Draco, Harry and the two lead case Aurors, posed with seized potion vials in hand. It was accompanied by a surprisingly gracious statement from Harry about the value of Draco’s contribution in bringing the culprit to justice, and the positive working relationship he had enjoyed with the Auror department. He wouldn’t have blamed him for not mentioning him at all.

He startles as Harry slides into the seat opposite. It is fifteen minutes past the time they agreed via owl to meet, and Draco had started to give up hope. He looks good. Tired, uncertain, but good.

“I’m sorry, Hermione should never...”  
“I’m so glad you came, I wouldn’t have blamed you if...”

The both stop speaking as they trip over each other’s words.

Draco starts again, “Yes she should. I deserved far worse than what she said.” He forces himself to look up into Harry’s eyes. He’s a coward, but he has to do this. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I treated you terribly and you didn’t deserve it in the slightest. I can’t imagine that I can even begin to try and put it right, but I want to try, if I can. I should have stayed, I should have talked to you.”

“It’s...I don’t know Draco. It’s just I thought we were better friends than that. It’s fair enough if you don’t feel anything for me, that it was just sex for you,” the thickness of Harry’s voice belies those words, Draco thinks, “but it would have meant a lot to me if you could have just said that to my face instead of just leaving like that. A fucking kiss and a ‘see you on Thursday’?” He sounds a little angry, but more sad than anything. Tired. “I deserved more than that.” Draco can hear years of Hermione’s pep talks in that one statement. “You saw how I was after Jo, after the way he led me on. I thought you got it. Got me. And clearly I misread the signals, and there was far too little talking, but...” he pauses, not seeming to know what to say next.

“You didn’t. It did. Does.” Harry just looks at him. “Merlin, I’m so shit at this. It is not you in any way. You did nothing wrong.”

His face twists. “Don’t you fucking dare ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ me, Draco.”

Shit. “I’m not, that’s not what I mean. Fuck. I'm getting this all wrong.” Is he brave enough to say what he wants? What he dreams of? He can’t look Harry in the eye anymore. “You were perfect. _It_ was perfect. Everything my messed up little brain had ever wished for. But I’m fucked up. You don’t deserve this.” _I don’t deserve you_ his brain whispers. “Our history is always going to follow us. I’ll always have _this_ on my arm. For fucksake, the man who murdered your parents lived in my fucking house. How could I ever... _nothing_ I do could be enough. You’ve got to see that?” His voice is pleading. “Is doesn’t matter what I want. It doesn’t matter how I feel about you...”

“What about what I feel?” He can’t answer. Harry’s voice is soft and he imagines he’s got that look on his face again. Like he knows who he really is. “Hermione said you’d burnt your desk.” He sounds hopeful.

He nods. “I tried to completely torch the thing, but turns out an Incendio strong enough to take out antique mahogany is tricky when you’re half a bottle of Ogden’s down.”

Harry huffs out a humourless laugh. “Well, I need to go shopping for new bedding. Second lot the charity shop has ended up with this year.” Draco looks up. He _has_ got that look on his face. 

“When I came to your flat on Tuesday, I didn’t do it lightly, Draco." Harry sounds exasperated now, which is an improvement on sad. "I’d bloody thought about it. A lot. I was warring with myself over what to do, whether to say anything. I wasn’t sure how you felt, until we were in the incident room. And then in that moment I thought I could read it in your eyes.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Fuck, I wish I’d just asked you out to dinner. Then maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess. That’s what I had planned when I stepped into the Floo. Ask you on a date, tell you how I felt.” He smiles bitterly. “Maybe hold your hand, if I was lucky.”

“Where?” Draco’s voice is small.

“What?”

“Where were you going to take me?” He’s not sure why he’s torturing himself like this, or Harry.

“There’s this new place on Diagon. British-Magical fusion. Nev’s a partner, and their consultant Herbologist. They use all sorts of British ingredients, Muggle and magical. Little private booths, set around this central aquarium thing. I reserved one of those. I thought you’d find it interesting.“ Harry is blushing a little, like the fact that he’d been presumptuous enough to make a booking was something to be embarrassed by. “The food’s great, or at least that’s what Nev said.”

“I’d have liked that.” Which is an understatement of epic proportions. Draco’s stomach is turning cartwheels. Harry had planned to take him out to dinner in Diagon. For their first date. And he’d fucked it all up by being a self-defeating arsehole.

Harry shuffles uncomfortably, and Draco catches sight of his neck under his shirt collar. He might have ditched the bedding, but he hasn’t healed the marks Draco left.

He hopes there is still a chance, if there is he has to take it while it still exists. He slides his hand onto the table, palm up. He can feel it shaking, he’s not sure if it is visible. “In fact I’d still like it. If you think you could get another reservation?” He whispers. He thinks his tone supplies what he is really asking: ‘ _If you could give me another chance?_ ’ He holds his breath as his hand sits there outstretched. His cuff has ridden up and he sees that the ragged faded edges of his Dark Mark show. He doesn’t pull his hand away.

Harry reaches out hesitantly, and trails his finger tips over the palm of Draco’s hand.“I think I might like that too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Dux is only a thing in Scottish schools (pupil with top exam results) so let's just go with: as Britain's Wizarding school is Scottish that the traditions carry on into other training programs.
> 
> Second and final chapter just needs a quick edit, so it should be up tomorrow.
> 
> Please comment, it makes my day! Let me know what you think, what you imagine might happen next.


	2. Buxton's Theory of Complement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every pureblood knows the order of the seven courting gifts, learning them in stories and rhymes since they were knee high to a house elf. “Let’s write out the list, have a bit of a think, and then you can go shopping. But if you aren’t going to tell me who he is then the final choices are all on you.”

• • + • • 

The room is graceful and minimal. All sleek surfaces and perfectly chosen objects. It makes his brain itch. He drops the bottle of fizz he’s brought onto a side table. “Pansy?” They usually catch up on a Sunday, they make a point of not letting it go more than three weeks between meetings.

“Through here, darling.” Skirting round the marble faced divider he finds her in the kitchen. She’s making Bloody Marys. 

“I hope there’s food to go with those.” He moves round to pull her into a light hug, kissing both cheeks, one then the other. 

“Plenty. I’ll get Tassy to make us eggs.” She hands him the cocktail as they walk through to the living room, regards him carefully. “You look well. I saw you in the paper, well done on that potions case. It was a _very_ good write up. I’d say the Prophet is coming round to you.” The rebuke for not telling her he was working on it is implicit in the tone of her voice.

“Non-disclosure contract. Magically binding. They didn’t want to tip off whoever it was, so I wasn’t allowed to say anything. To _anyone_.” She looks slightly mollified. It seems the moment to scoop up the cava and hand it to her. “From your favourite region. I saw it and thought of you.”

“Flatterer, you know that gets you nowhere with me.” But she smiles, sets it down next to her.

\+ + + + + 

The food is exquisite. He needs to get Tassy’s Hollandaise recipe. When they are half way down the cava when he decides to bite the bullet.

“I had hoped this might put you in somewhat of a good mood.” She raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say a word. There's a pashmina draped over her legs where they are tucked up on the sofa. Her cheeks are slightly pink. They’ve been laughing a lot. At right angles to her, he's slouched in an armchair, and comfortably drunk enough to be at least a little brave. He knows she’s the best one to help. The decisions he’s made have left him uncertain and second guessing himself at every turn.

“I wanted to talk to you about...courtship gifts. I was hoping I could borrow some of your skills. Mates rates?” he wheedles. Pansy is a high end stylist these days, muggle and magical, she has an eye for putting things together that is unrivalled.

Pansy suddenly looks very sober. She’s pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the seat. “Fuck! Draco? Is this because she thinks your standing has improved, because of your business, that article? I thought she’d given up on the notion for good?” She looks horrified. “You can’t! I won’t let you get talked into this. You don’t owe your family anything. You have to remember that.”

“No! It’s not like that.” In an attempt to calm her he moves to set himself down next to her on the sofa. He’s incredibly touched that she would be so protective. “It isn’t my mother’s doing. I...” He bites the inside of his lip. Actually maybe he isn’t brave enough for the whole truth. “I’ve met...someone. A man. A wizard. And well, I want to...”

“Get in his pants?” She looks amused now. “Draco, you can’t give a girl a fright like that. For a second there I had hideous mental images of having to go wedding robe shopping with your mother and Mrs. Greengrass.” She’s joking, but he can tell how truly relived she is.

Raising an eyebrow he smiles salaciously. “Pansy, my darling. I’ve already got in his pants. I _do not_ need help in that department.” He’s playing it off too, but they’ve spent enough nights, with him maudlin and drunk, talking over his non-existent love life for them both to know this is a significant development. “But...well, I fucked up a bit.” Pansy snorts, and gives him a sarcastic ‘ _What? You? Never!_ ’ look, hand to her chest in mock surprise.

“Yes, yes. Very funny. But I want to let him know I’m serious. That I care for him. That I want it to be more than a casual fuck.” Her look softens, she gives his hand a squeeze. “Oh, don’t get sentimental on me, Pans. I need your cold hard advice. I’ve never done this before. And the traditional gifts aren’t really an option. If he opens a box and there’s a fucking peacock in there I think he’d hex me.” His mother should have hexed his father when he gifted her one. He kept buying more of the fuckers every anniversary and she bloody hated them. “So what’s the modern equivalent of courting? What do I do?”

“Do I get a hint to help me? Do I know him?” Blushing, he shakes his head. “Hmm. Sly bastard. Well, without knowing his likes and dislikes it is a _little_ difficult, sweetie. But several of the gifts could still work, the sentiments behind them are sound to show someone you are serious, if you adapt them to your situation.” 

Every pureblood knows the order of the seven courting gifts, learning them in stories and rhymes since they were knee high to a house elf. 

“Let’s write out the list, have a bit of a think, and then you can go shopping. But if you aren’t going to tell me who he is then the final choices are all on you.”

• • + • • 

On their first date he had insisted on going round to pick Harry up, even though Harry was the one who had chosen and booked the table at Misceo. The gift is a Nightstar, planted in a little pot with magically painted dragons circling round the side. 

“They open up after the sun goes down, and have a beautiful scent. I thought they might be nice to come home to, when you are back late.” He’s thrilled to see them on the kitchen windowsill when he’s next in Harry’s house briefly to go through casework.

The whole evening at Misceo is perfect, but although Draco’s heart soars at the confidence implicit in that gesture, he’s begged Harry to keep their developing relationship private for now. The papers have picked up on their meetings but have placed them into a narrative that includes his weekly lunches with Hermione, and follows on from his work on cracking the Potions case. It seems the public is ripe for a redemption story, and the Prophet is willing to fulfill the need.

After their second date, a Montrose/Harpies game, Draco buys a little metal miniature of a quidditch stadium. The tiny players swoop around the pitch, zipping joyfully towards and away from the hoops at each end. It isn’t quite a bird, but it is close enough for him. He sends it to Harry after he gets home and includes a small note saying how much fun he had.

He organises their third date. They go to a Gin tasting on a Friday night at a little Muggle distillery in the Highlands. He delivers a bottle of the one Harry had preferred to his house by owl the next day.

Draco is desperately trying to take things slowly. He’s used Harry’s Floo to get home after each date so far, but he’s not lingered to long over his goodbyes. He can still remember the taste of the juniper flavoured kisses after Friday night. Harry had clung to him a little as he pulled away. He’s not pushing Draco for more, maybe can see what he’s trying to do. That he’s trying to build something. Draco hopes so. But it doesn’t make it any easier. He’s pretty sure Harry would fall back into bed with him right away if he asked, but perversely that is why he doesn’t want to. The sex was spectacular, he wants to prove that the rest can be just as good.

Dates four and five are possibly not dates at all. First they go round to Hermione’s for lunch on Sunday. It’s an uncharacteristically warm day for the time of year and they sit outside to eat. Harry catches his hand from time to time and smiles at him as he holds it for a few seconds. As he gets dragged back into a conversation he drops it again, only to pick it up absently a few minutes later.

This time the gift is a notebook. “I saw this in Diagon the other day." It is beautiful, linen paper, and a dragonhide cover. "I had it charmed so it will link to your magical signature, it should fall open to the page you want if you touch here,” He moves Harry’s index finger to a gold leaf circle, “and say the word you are looking for. I thought it might be useful for work.” Weasley is staring at him thoughtfully as he hands it over in a quiet moment before they have dessert.

The fifth is an informal and rather rough Quidditch game with some sort of rag tag group that’s evolved over the years. It’s on a tucked away bit of land outside of London, with Muggle repelling charms all over it. Afterwards they sit around and drink beer, tell terrible jokes, and compare injuries. He finds he likes the group, amongst it are some Aurors, a pro-Quidditch player or two including Ginevra, a writer from an Quidditch International magazine, and Dean Thomas from school. Draco and Harry aren’t publically affectionate, but he sees Ginevra giving him looks. 

When he pops into the Ministry early the next day, and asks if might be let into Harry’s office to leave him something, Calum from the Aurors gives him a very knowing grin as he unlocks the door. Draco has made Harry a muscle soothing bath potion, he’d taken hell of a tumble when Ginevra cut him up to get to the quaffle. Housed in a small wooden box, he's included handwritten instructions on a card signed with a D and a x.

• • + • • 

Ostensibly he is here as Blaise’s plus one, and Harry is here accompanying Hermione. He’s still going to count it as the start of their sixth date. He had sent a finely tailored shirt to Harry earlier that day, a deep fir green. Pansy had suggested the Muggle designer, back when he’d first asked for advice on gifts. He has to agree that they had looked like a dream, so good that he had bought himself one in a light silver grey which he’s wearing this evening along with his navy dress robes and a royal blue tie.

Pansy is flitting round the room like a snitch. It’s a charity event, a particular baby of hers, and she’s had her hand on everything from the invites to the decor. Now she’s working the room with the official host, shaking the guests down for their galleons in a way that reminds Draco of Potter in that Ministry Committee all that time ago. They are practically thanking her as they hand over their Gringott’s money orders.

Blaise and he are leaning against the back wall. They’ve already had their pockets turned out thoroughly, ‘ _Well, I can’t very well start the evening with the total on zero, darlings, do help a girl out_.’ As he sees Harry enter the room with Hermione he can’t help but give himself a quick once over, smoothing his robes down. Blaise gives him a look as he pushes himself of the wall to standing, but he doesn’t rise to it.

Blaise is the first to spot that the two are actually coming this way to greet them. “Ms Granger” Blaise holds out his hand to take and lightly kiss Hermione’s in an elegant formal style. He then grasps Harry’s firmly for a handshake after that, holding it for a beat too long as he rather obviously checks Harry out. “A pleasure, Auror Potter.” Harry blushes, flicking his eyes over to Draco, as he takes his hand back and gives a Blaise a polite nod.

“I’ve told you before, it’s Hermione. Good to see you, Blaise.” She turns and gives Draco a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, Draco. I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages.”

“You haven’t, much. Because you keep skipping out on our lunch dates.” He risks a sidelong look at Harry. He looks devastating. He’s wearing the deep green shirt he got him which makes Draco’s stomach swoop a little. He’s paired it up with dark brown robes. And who knew that would look so good? They are a fine wool fabric, almost tweed, with little bits of dark leather detailing on the pocket edges and cuffs. He’s wearing them open over the shirt, and a pair of finely cut dark brown trousers with matching waistcoat, deep brown Italian leather shoes.

The whole brown/tweed/leather thing should give an air of fusty old History professor. Harry’s added a russet slubbed silk tie, a deep chartreuse pocket square in the same fabric. The mix of colours, and perfection of the cut, means that it come across more as some kind of sexy woodland fertility god. Harry quirks him a little smile, and he can feel the colour rising on his cheeks. He can hear a muttered ‘for fucksake’ from Hermione, and he hastily redirects his attention back to her.

\+ + + + + 

“So, what, we’re back in 4th Year again?” Blaise’s voice is amused as he starts to tease Draco. This is why he hasn’t told him yet, he tells himself. “Or is it 8th? Or 5th? I forget.” He doesn’t mention 6th or 7th. “I mean not that I blame you,” he leans to the side to catch a glimpse of the back of Harry. He’s got caught in conversation by some old duffer on his way to the bar, “because, damn. The photos of him in the paper _do not_ do him full justice these days.”

He’s about to open his mouth and say, well he doesn’t quite know how to broach it at all really, least of all in this setting, where Blaise is openly perving over Harry, and surrounded as they are by some of the most rich and most gossipy individuals of the Wizarding world. Fortunately Hermione returns at that moment flanked by Pansy who is bending her ear. “I do appreciate it, Granger. Seeing you drop an envelope in the cauldron is bound to set off a ripple effect.”

“Not a problem, Parkinson, it’s a good cause. I told Harry to wait until more people were aware he was here, and then drop his contribution in while he’s being stared at.” Pansy snorts, and raises her glass appreciatively to toast Hermione before taking a hefty swig of champagne. 

“Don’t mind if I take a breather here, do you? I feel like I’ve kissed so much wizarding arse tonight that I might develop something nasty.” Now it’s Granger’s turn to laugh. They don’t get on exactly, but they tolerate each other when their paths cross. He’s pretty sure Hermione at the very least appreciates Pansy’s skills in unapologetically working over both old school Pureblood families, and the post-War nouveau riche, for their galleons. Pansy rests her head on Draco’s shoulder, snuggling up to his side. “Five minutes and then I’ll go back out into the fray. If I leave Cordelia alone for too long she goes rogue, and who knows what she’ll end up promising people. If we have to name the next building after another overbearing arsehole I will be so cross.”

A tinkling sound announces Harry’s arrival. He’s herding the levitating glasses ahead of him. No wand in sight of course. The beautiful bastard, Draco thinks fondly. “I got you champagne, Pansy, I hope that was the right thing to do?” Harry passes out the other drinks. His hand brushes Draco’s lightly as he hands the gin and tonic over. Draco takes a sip. He’s pretty sure it is from the distillery he took Harry to.

“Potter. Putting a glass of champagne in my hand is _always_ the right thing to do.” She whips it out of the air with a smirk as she glances appreciatively up and down at the outfit he’s put together. “You’d do well to remember that if...” Her head snaps around to look at Draco, her voice falters a little, before she recovers quickly. “well, if you want to come to any more of these events.” She glances out at the room. Looks again at Draco as she keeps talking to Harry. Her tone is pointed, “I do appreciate you coming, Potter, I know you don’t _usually_ have the time to come to these things.” He’s notorious for dropping large donations but not attending. “Seeing you here will help the cause, I’m sure.”

“On that note, I should go and put this envelope into the pot as deliberately and visibly as possible. As ordered.” He bows to Hermione.

Hermione hooks her arm into Harry’s. “I’ll accompany you. Up the impact.” She smiles at Draco, nods to Blaise and Pansy and steers Harry across the room.

The second they are out of earshot Pansy whirls round on him. “What the actual fuck, Draco? What the hell are you thinking?” She looks genuinely worried. “Salazar, Astoria might have been the better option.”

“What’s he done now?” Blaise sounds amused again. He loves it when he can watch her having a go at someone else, always has done. Less so when he’s the target himself.

She pinches the fabric of Draco’s shirt, a shirt he now realises to be very distinctively designed and which matches Harry’s, flexes it between her fingers and tugs at it angrily. “Gift six? Fucking gift six? Merlin, you didn’t waste any time. Please _tell_ me you’ve not bought a ring.”

“Of course I haven’t.” Draco snaps at her angrily, as if the very notion is absurd. He doesn’t mention the titanium cloak clasp waiting in his bottom drawer, engraved with lines and delicate starbursts in the shape of his constellation.

Blaise frowns, “Right, back up, back up. I feel like I need to catch up with some developments here. Gifts? Astoria might be a better option? Rings?” Some sort of understanding dawns over Blaise, and he starts to laugh incredulously. “Are you courting, Draco? Merlin, no wonder Pansy is furious, you promised us you were well out of that pureblood dynasty shit. To quote our girl here ‘what the actual fuck?’” He lifts his glass halfway to his mouth and glances around the room with a questioning look. “So who’s the unlucky lady? Is she here?”

Blaise almost chokes on his mouthful of champagne when Draco tells him.

\+ + + + + 

Pansy has dragged them into seats in an alcove, privacy and repelling charms hastily thrown in place. All thoughts of fundraising are gone now. She’s more than worried, Draco realises, she looks scared. “Draco, what have you done? He could destroy you. You’re only just starting to get your good name back, one wrong word from the Saviour and you are _done for_.”

“I hate to say it but she’s right, old boy. I know you’re doing well for yourself now, but did you see how the press ripped his last squeeze apart? And the worst they had on him was that he had shagged around. This goes tits up and every single bit of shit on you will get pulled out of the archive and dragged across the front page.” Blaise looks pensive. He tends not to reveal how much he cares, or how deeply he thinks, preferring to cultivate the image of a lighthearted playboy, but he’s showing it now. “Although also, on reflection, you lucky bastard.”

Pansy shoots Blaise a disapproving look. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask you who it bloody was. Morgana and Merlin, this is not a situation to be thinking with your dick in, Draco. And courting, actual bloody courting? You know how serious that is. You can’t just set up that kind of expectation.”

He blushes. “It isn’t courting, not really. I said that when we talked, didn’t I? I mean how would that even work in this instance? Would I have to go to Robards to inform them of my intentions? Or Shacklebolt? For one he's his own man, and secondly he has no bloody family. And it isn’t like I’m asking for his hand. I’m just...buying him some presents, going on some dates.”

“How many?” He tries to look like he doesn’t understand. Her voice gets harder. “How many, Draco? Dates? Presents?”

Thinking about holding out, he know he can’t. “Six.” He admits, “Six dates, six presents.” Pansy looks expectantly at him, tapping her foot. “Nightstar flowers, a miniature of a quidditch game, gin, a linen notebook, healing bath essence, and today, the shirt.’

“Fucking hell.” She’s whispering, as if this has taken her breath away. “And what has he said to all this?” And here’s where it could become a tad embarrassing.

“He...I...I haven’t explained it to him in exactly those terms. Like I say, it isn’t courting, not really. It’s not like I’ve informed my mother or anything, for Merlin’s sake. They’re just gifts. Just dates. I’m just showing my affection. They don’t really mean anything.” They mean everything. While he’s _not_ planning to propose, getting Harry to see just how serious he is about this relationship may just be the most important thing in his life right now. The most important thing for years.

Pansy gives him a withering look. “Draco, You’ve given him six gifts, gone on six dates. Don’t talk thestral shit. You’ve fallen for the fairy tale, and you could get hurt. And yet you haven’t even told him that you’re courting him. He could _destroy_ you” she says again. It makes Draco feel sick.

“He wouldn’t, Pansy.” Pansy’s face softens. She looks so pitying.

“Oh, darling. I’m not saying he’d want to. But he is who he is. And you are who you are. I love you, and I want you to be happy, but you have to be careful. You more than most. You’re forgetting yourself. He’s making you stupid.” She glances out into the room, and her face twists in annoyance. “I have to go, Cordelia is talking to a very rich wizard with very little sense or taste. I need to avert a disaster.” She grabs Draco’s chin, twists his face so they are eye to eye. “Do _NOT_ think this conversation is over.”

\+ + + + + 

Draco has managed to avoid Harry for a lot of the night. They are supposed to be going out for a drink after. Somewhere Muggle. So he’s justified in not spending time with him here, he tells himself. He skirts round to the bar when he spots Harry has moved over to the other side of the room, he’s been buttonholed by a few Wizenmagot members and their partners over there. Draco doesn’t know how to act around him since Pansy’s reaction. Has he gone in too hard, fallen too deep? Is she right? Will Harry destroy him? Does he even have a choice at this point? Draco’s not sure he could walk away now and survive anyway.

“Having a good evening, Mr Malfoy, Sir?” He’s startled to be addressed and jerks round. Calum is leaning on the wall near the bar, looking out over the room. He’s in formal Auror uniform.

“Not bad. Are you on duty?” He can’t imagine Pansy invited him.

“Yeah” He wrinkles his nose in annoyance. "They get twitchy when it is more than one of them somewhere public.” He nods across first at Hermione who is talking to a witch Draco vaguely recognises but can’t place, and then Harry who is smiling his ‘ _I really can’t be arsed with this_ ’ smile as someone talks at him.

“If it is one or the other, they tend to leave them to it. It isn’t like they can’t take care of themselves, but if it is the two or the three of them, or if Mr Longbottom is there with one of them, then they tend to get an Auror to keep an eye out. If it was the full lot of them then this room would be solid burgundy across all the exits.” He smiles at Draco in amusement. “We all feel a bit superfluous to be honest, whenever we’re on _‘Hero Duty’_. Don’t tell him I called it that. I think it is one of the reasons he avoids these kind of things usually. He feels like a right arse having one of us guarding him. And I mean, would you mess with either of them? Let alone both of them?” 

“Not on your life. I learned that lesson a long time ago.” He smiles wryly at Calum, and the young Auror flushes.

“Shit, I didn’t mean...I wasn’t referring to, you know, back then. Sorry, Sir.” He man can only be six or seven years younger than him at most. They might have crossed paths at school, which makes him feel a little sick. 

Draco waves it off. “I know. Don’t worry about it.” 

Calum nods his head, seems to take him at his word. “Seeing as I’ve stuck my foot in it already, well.” He pauses, flicks a glance at Draco then goes back to surveying the room, “He seems really happy. We’ve noticed it at work. Since you and him....” He lets the sentence trail off. Draco decides not to confirm or deny, “Not everyone, I mean we’re not gossiping about it or anything,” he adds hastily, “Just a couple of us who hang out with him a bit more, quidditch and that, we noticed.”

The young Auror gets distracted from what he’s saying as Hermione moves on to talk to another group, settles back against the wall once he’s happy he’s still got her in sight. “Jo was a right wanker.” His tone is conversational. “I mean, the Guv _seemed_ happy enough at the time, at first glance. If you’d have asked me, I would have said ‘yeah, he’s grand’, but none of us thought much of him. Jo. In it for what he could get, Dan suspected.” He rubs his thumb and forefinger together with a grimace. “But it weren’t our business, so...”

“But now it is?” Draco can’t help ask archly.

“You’re good for him, Sir. Which is good for us.” He grins at Draco. “He’s a much better boss when he’s happy. He was a right wanker for a few days after he broke up with Jo. Never had to rewrite so many reports in my life.”

“So you just want me to pacify him, give you an easy life?” Draco’s tone is mildly teasing. He quite likes Calum, from the little he’s seen.

“Something like that, Sir.” He turns and looks at Draco again. His face is more serious now. “He’s a good guy. And he’s had to deal with a lot of shit. He deserves something good for once.” Draco feels weirdly emotional. That he’s considered ‘something good’ by the junior Auror is unaccountably sweet.

“I need to go. I need to keep moving so I can see the both of them.” Hermione has moved on to yet another group, Draco can just about see one elbow from where they are stood. “It was good talking to you, Sir. Hope to see you around.” He gives Draco small salute and a smirk, and moves off across the room.

\+ + + + + 

Pansy finds Draco at a small table near the bar, as the event is starting to wind down a smidge. The really old codgers have left, but the group is still big enough. He hands her his undrunk cocktail, cava with rhubarb gin liqueur. “Draco, darling.” She looks wary, and also like she is about to launch into a big speech. She’s probably been preparing it in her head for the last forty minutes.

“Don’t. Please, Pansy. Just...don’t.” She folds her lips together for a few seconds, then takes a sip of the drink. 

“Give me a reason not to.” She still looks worried as she turns the glass around and around on the table in front of her.

Draco decides to just get down to it. “I know how dangerous this could be. Believe me. I’ve thought enough about it. It’s how I fucked up in the first place. We shagged, and then I panicked, ran. He thought it meant nothing to me. But it did. It meant so much.” Draco can see Pansy warring with herself. The worry is still there, but there is also amusement and curiosity battling it out. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, just ask.” His tone is exasperated, but he’s rolling his eyes while biting back a smile.

“How was it? Everything your fourteen year old self could have hoped for?” She mocks him with a grin.

“Nothing like it. My fourteen year old self quite frankly did not have an imagination capable enough.” He grins and then tries to smother it, looking down and biting the inside of his lip. The memory of Harry spooned against him in his bed hits him quite suddenly. Of that messy kiss, while he was inside Harry, more shared breath than anything else. “He...we...” He looks up at Pansy. “This isn’t fourteen year old me making this decision, Pans. Merlin, I don’t know whether I wanted to kiss him, kill him or _be_ him back then. Probably all of them.” Pansy laughs.

“By eighteen I was immensely grateful to him, and just glad we were both alive. I mean of course I still thought he was fit, but, well, you know what a dark place I was in then.” She nods, takes his hand. “But this is the me now. I’m almost twenty-six, _almost_ entirely sane, I run my own successful business. I’m respected for my work, if not for much else. And although you and the Ministry are the only ones who invite me to parties, at least I hardly ever get hexed in the street these days.” He sees her wince, she hates it when his jokes slice a little too close to the bone.

“This isn’t schoolboy Draco running after an impossible dream. He’s not the boy-who-lived or the saviour, I _haven’t_ ‘fallen for the fairytale’. He’s a bloke who eats curry on my sofa, and then panics when he spills it. He’s an unexpected whizz at potions theory. He does wandless magic like it is nothing, but hasn’t mastered a decent shaving charm. He’s _smart_ , and funny, and kind. He still plays quidditch like a dream. He writes beautifully thoughtful thank you notes when he gets a present. He can cook. He has decent enough taste in wine. He’s powerful. Salazar is he powerful.” Draco throws Pansy a filthy smile. “And he fucks like a god.” She barks a loud laugh, then throws her hand over her mouth to try and cover it. “And he’s charming like you would not believe. It’s intoxicating.” 

He nods across towards Harry with a smile, and Pansy’s gaze follows. Harry is smiling at the Wizanmagot members who he had been talking to, and without even seeming to he manoeuvres one over to the central donation pot with a gentle touch to the small of the back. The others kind of drift with them, as if connected to him by a thread. Harry continues to talk earnestly, he’s doing a weird wavy hand thing to emphasise his point. The man is nodding, clearly compelled by what Harry is saying, and fishes his wallet out of his pocket as Harry smoothly hands him one of the donation envelopes mid-sentence. Harry shakes his hand, does the same to the others as they start to get out their own money orders. He looks up and throws a wink Draco’s way, shoves his hands in his pockets and drifts off to another group, who part to welcome him in. He gestures back to the three wizards at the donation point, and starts talking.

Pansy looks intrigued, “I didn’t know he particularly cared about this cause. I mean I know he _cares_ he’s Harry Potter, but Cordelia hasn’t mentioned him as a particular supporter?” She looks at Draco, confused.

Draco smiles softly as he watches Harry, warmth radiating through him, “He doesn’t. But he knows you do. And he knows how much I care about you.” Pansy gives him another appraising look at that. “Please, Pans. I need you and Blaise to be OK with this. I know the public reaction won’t be easy, if it gets to that point. I need you.”

She glances back over at Harry, then back to Draco. “Gods, Draco, I wish I didn’t love you so much sometimes.”

\+ + + + + 

In the basement of a tucked away boutique hotel Draco and Harry sit in a little bar. It is dark, almost deserted, with a barman who is attentive yet unobtrusive. After the bustle of the room at Pansy’s event it is bliss. Harry had called Kreacher and sent him off with his robes as the event had come to an end, swapping them for a more Muggle appropriate jacket of the same fabric. Draco had returned to his flat and swapped his robes for a cashmere jumper, before coming to join Harry.

They are sat in a little booth off to the side of the bar, side by side on the banquette seat. Harry has taken Draco’s hand in his where it lies between them on the seat. He’s running his thumb over the back of Draco’s hand, and Draco feels like he could stay here like this for a very long time.

“Thanks for the shirt.” He looks up and Harry’s smiling at him. He leans forward and kisses Draco softly on the lips. “It’s beautiful.”

“I thought it was rather your colour.” Harry smiles again. He seems to do that a lot around Draco now. Draco realises he’s staring, rather obviously, at Harry’s eyes, then realises it doesn’t matter. He can.

“So what happens now we’ve got to gift six?” It’s said so casually that it takes Draco a moment to register what he’s said. He feels like the air has been stolen from his lungs. He is still looking right at Harry.

“You...” He manages to stumble out stupidly. His brain has ceased to function at this unexpected twist to the evening.

Harry finishes the sentence for him, “...have Pureblood friends who have wizarding storybooks, and who sing their children traditional wizarding rhymes. I know I was brought up Muggle, but I _have_ learnt a thing or two in the intervening years.” He looks amused at least, Draco thinks.

“When...?” He really needs to start getting whole sentences out sometime soon.

“I didn’t figure it out at the start. The flowers didn’t give it away, or the miniature flyers, but once you gave me that gin something started niggling at the back of my brain about the way you had worded the note that came with it. 'to toast our future' Then I asked Nev the name of the flowers when he was round: Nightstar. That plus the dragons on the pot and it started to fall into place. ‘My love brought me flowers, to tell me his name’” he quotes.

He takes a sip of his whisky, he looks so fucking relaxed while Draco can’t even think. “and then when you gave me the notebook at Ron’s he figured it out too. Linen, see. I’d mentioned the other gifts to him and Hermione before. I _may_ have been a little giddy over having received them and have been enthusing over them a bit.” He smiles embarrassedly. “He made me tell him all the gifts you’d given me up to that point, in order.” Harry smiles again, still amused. “Then he spent a lot of time saying ‘fuck’.” He reaches out a hand and trails it down the side of Draco’s jaw.

“You’re OK with it?” He can’t quite believe Harry knew. His stomach flips over when he realises that Harry knew the underlying significance of the gifts, and still wore this shirt tonight.

“Well, assuming you don’t have a ring stashed away, yeah.” Draco stutters out a nervous laugh, shakes his head. “Although for future reference, should it ever become relevant, I prefer plainer designs. No diamonds neccessary.” He gives Draco a cheeky grin.

“I’ll bear it in mind,” he laughs. His heart and stomach are starting to unclench. His mind flits to the sleek titanium clasp he has in his drawer.

Harry picks up Draco’s hand again, pulls it to rest on his atop his thigh. “I’ve been more than OK with it. It’s really sweet.”

“Sweet? Merlin, maybe Pansy was right and I have reverted to being a fourteen years old.”

“Nah, fourteen year old you was never sweet.” That earns Harry a swat from Draco’s free hand. “OK, maybe sweet was the wrong word.” Harry's tone swaps from teasing to serious. “Just...I was a nervous, actually make that fucking terrified, of us trying this. After the way we started. I wasn’t capable of turning away though."

"But I think you could have broken me quite badly, if this had gone wrong. You still could.” He looks vulnerable as he says it. “But the way you’ve been trying to piece us back together. The thought you’ve been putting in. I feel like you’ve given me so much of you, even though it has only been a short time.”

Harry’s got that smile on his face again as he looks at Draco, the one he’d had after they kissed properly for the first time. Like Draco is the most precious thing, and Harry is drunk on the mere thought of him. “I think you might have me starting to fall in love with you, Draco Malfoy, bit by bit. Every time I look at those flowers when I get home, every time I write a note in that book. When I put on your shirt today, when I picked out ‘our’ gin for you to drink tonight.”

Draco sits back, shoulder to shoulder with Harry. He trains his eyes on the far wall and tries not to grin. “So a seventh date wouldn’t be out of the question then?” Harry must surely be able to hear the self-satisfied smile in his voice as he asks.

“Nor an eighth, nor a ninth, nor a tenth, nor...” Draco shuts him up with a kiss.

• • + • • 

Even from a distance Misceo looks busier tonight. Last time was a Wednesday in the first week of opening, and the place had been sparsely populated. The reviews have been glowing in all the Wizarding press, and the crowds have picked up. Only the booths can be reserved, the rest of the long shared bench tables are filled with mixed groups, first come first served, and there is an eager queue outside. A server on the door keeps tabs on the number in each party, to match spaces with customers.

Harry and Draco walk side by side up Diagon towards the front door. The evening is mild, and Harry has been cooped up in his office all day. Draco had been insistent that the fresh air will do him good. Harry turns to Draco as they approach, “I’m glad you suggested Misceo again. I was so terrified last time I don’t think I had a chance to enjoy it the way it deserves.”

“Harry Potter, terrified?” He raises an eyebrow playfully at Harry, they are walking close, shoulders brushing together as they move along.

“You have a way of doing that to me, Draco. Amongst other things.” They’ve reached the queue now, Draco hesitates as they come level with the back of it, but Harry shakes his head and keeps walking forward. The crowd shuffles back in a wave as he passes, whispers rippling along. Wizards and witches move to turn and look at Harry, and Draco’s way is hindered by their movements. Harry turns back to see where he is then, with a pleasant ‘excuse me’ here or there, he’s reaching back and grasping Draco’s hand to draw him forward. Draco tries to ignore the fact that the crowd has quieted a little at that, before the chatter resumes, louder, more excited.

Harry keeps a tight grip on his hand until they reach the front of the queue, fingers laced together. He lets go only to sling an arm casually around Draco’s waist, finger tips tucked into Draco’s front trouser pocket, as they stand by the door waiting for the server so they can confirm their reservation. “Subtle, Potter.” he whispers, tone admonishing. They’ve not discussed this.

“Shut up. You love it.” And he does, so he can’t really say anything in reply.

\+ + + + + 

Draco takes Harry’s hand this time, as they pay the bill at the bar. He leans over and whispers “come back to mine?” in Harry’s ear as the witch behind the counter tallies up their order. Clearly not quite quietly enough as she flushes and pretends not to hear that, or Harry’s whispered reply of “fuck, yes.”

As they step out of his Floo, after dodging conversations with friends and acquaintances in the Leaky, he feels strangely nervous. It isn’t like they haven’t done this before. From his enthusiastic response earlier Draco half expects Harry to fall on him immediately, but he seems rather subdued.

He’s not quite sure what to say. “Firewhiskey?” They haven’t had much to drink so far.

“I’d rather have a tea, if that’s OK?” Harry glances around the room, eyes his replacement desk. The other one is stowed away in storage until he can figure out what to do with it. They’ve not been back here since that first night. A little time has been spent at Harry’s for a quick informal consult on the case in between dates, but they have mostly been on neutral ground until now.

Harry trails him upstairs as Draco heads to the kitchen. “Black, white, green, herbal?” The conversation has been easy all evening, but now it feels stilted. He still doesn’t know what to say, to make this feel easier again, what to do with himself.

“White would be great. That one I tried before, with the jasmine, if you still have it?” That he remembers that little detail from the time they spent together before makes Draco’s pulse flutter. He admonishes himself for being so pathetic. It's just tea.

He stands with his back to Harry as the kettle boils, staring at the steam as he overthinks. Harry is sat at the table. Draco had imagined they would be naked and in his bed by now. Had hoped. He turns and set the filled cups down, pushes Harry’s across to him.

“I thought we should talk, before...”  
“Sugar?”  
“...things went any further.”

Setting the proffered sugar pot on the table, Harry takes Draco’s hand in his instead. “I hadn’t thought this would be this awkward.” He shuffles in his seat, squeezes Draco’s hand. “I just wanted to make sure you knew I didn’t expect anything. You know, just ‘cos we had sex before. Just because you invited me back tonight.” he’s rushing through the words, stumbling over them a bit. “I know you’ve been wanting to take this slowly, and I really appreciate how important that’s been. The fact that you want to make this about more than the sex. So I wanted you to know I’m still happy to take this at your pace. I just wanted to make that clear. If you want to wait, that’s fine.”

“Do you want to?” He can see the flicker of lust in Harry’s eyes. He knows without hearing the answer that he doesn’t want to.

“I...”

“The truth often gets you what you want, Harry.” The pitch of Draco’s voice has dropped. It sounds like a promise. 

“No, I don’t.” He can see the deep rise and fall of Harry’s breathing as he tries to calm himself.

“You’ve thought about it. About us.” It isn’t a question.

“Fuck, yes. All the fucking time.”

Draco gets up to move around the table, draws Harry to his feet. “Have you made yourself come when you think about it.” He reaches out and grips Harry’s hip, pulls him closer. Harry groans and kisses him like he can’t help himself. Draco pulls away slightly. “Have you? Did you think about you fucking me, or me fucking you?” He sucks on Harry’s neck, bites it, then licks over his bite mark. Harry tips his head to the side, to let Draco get better access.

“Fuck. Both. I...God.” Draco has snaked his hands under Harry’s shirt and jumper, he’s trailing his hands down his back, up over his ribs. Harry surges closer and kisses him again. “Anything. You chose. Or something else. I could blow you. You fuck me, whatever you want.”

“Or...” Draco drops to his knees in front of Harry. Looks up at him as he reaches out and pops the buttons of Harry’s pleasingly tight jeans.

“Fuck. Please.” Harry strokes a hand through Draco’s hair gently. “You look so good.”

“I told you before. I can be. For you.” Harry groans and Draco peels down his jeans and boxers down in one movement, exposing his hard cock. He gives Harry a push to sit him back down in the kitchen chair, and pulls them off all the way, along with shoes and socks. Settles between his legs, sat back on his heels. He flicks out his tongue over his lips, and leans forward, gently opening his mouth to allow the head of Harry’s cock to push into his mouth. He curls his tongue around the head, softly exploring. Harry is back to stroking his hair again, running his fingers through it over and over, tugging at the blonde strands lightly now and then.

Draco pulls back and tongues at the slit before pushing up fully on his knees, curling his body over Harry’s lap and sinking his mouth back down until he has taken Harry in, as far as he can. He can feel the head of Harry’s cock nudging at the back of his throat, he remembers to breathe through his nose and swallows a few times experimentally. “Draco. Uhhh. Fuck. That’s...fuck.” 

Draco knows he’s good at this, he loves it, and he’s been praised enough before. As he sucks back off he smiles and thinks that he can put all that practice to good use. He slides his lips back down again, captures the head of Harry’s cock again in his throat with a swallow. Harry is keeping his hips remarkably still, he’s kind of petting randomly at Draco’s hair and shoulders, he can hear him panting. He’s letting out little moans as Draco slides on, swallows, then sucks back off. He speeds up, goes shallower, starts using his tongue to massage all around his cock. He can taste Harry’s pre-come on his tongue. Harry’s hands are back in his hair, stroking through it. “Mmmm. So good. So fucking good, Draco.” He pulls off almost entirely, and sucks sweetly on the tip of Harry’s cock, making sure his lips are wet as he slides them around messily.

The tensing of Harry’s thighs tell him how much the other man is holding himself back, there are minute movements of his hips rocking him slightly. Draco slides right back down, then bobs his head faster keeping his lips tight around the shaft as he sucks, timing it with Harry’s small rocking motions. He plants his hands on the chair frame either side of Harry’s thighs and then stops his movements with Harry’s cock still in his mouth. Harry thrusts up once into Draco’s mouth as if he’s testing for a reaction. Draco keeps himself planted in place, moans as he takes Harry’s cock. “Can I?” Harry is making little shallow movements as he asks, pushing in past his lips, rubbing himself over his tongue. Draco moans again, nods his head as best he can then holds himself still. 

Harry thrusts up again. He drops his hands to Draco’s shoulders lightly. There is no real need for him to hold Draco as he fucks into his mouth. Draco is still holding himself still, braced against the chair. Draco increases the suction as Harry speeds up. There is praise spilling from his mouth, “So good, baby. Look at you. So fucking perfect.” He’s pushing in deeper now, faster too. “You going to be good for me now, let me come in your mouth?” He moans around Harry’s cock again. “You’re going to make me come like this Draco. So fucking good for me.” He pushes a hand into Draco’s hair again, cradles the nape of Draco’s neck. He doesn’t push, or try and control him, just thrusts up into Draco’s mouth again as he comes. Draco’s mouth is full of it and Harry slides his cook lazily in and out of Draco’s mouth a few more times, groaning as he watches how the movement smears come all over his lips and chin. When Harry slumps back into the chair, pulling out, Draco swallows then lays his head down on Harry’s thigh.

Draco can hear Harry’s breathing slowing. Still running his hands lightly through Draco’s hair, he's tickling them down in the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck. It is sending shivers down Draco’s spine. He feels so content. Even with his erection trapped far too tightly in his trousers. “That was...God. I don’t even know what that was.” Harry sounds a little dazed almost. Draco smiles and kisses Harry’s thigh. “Who knew you behaving yourself so nicely for me would be such a massive turn on?”

“Quite frankly who knew I could behave myself at all?” He turns his head to look up at Harry and smirks.

“I’m pretty sure you can do almost anything you turn your mind to.” Harry starts to stand, slowly, to give Draco time to move his head from where it is pillowed on his leg. He holds out his hand for Draco to take and draws him up. “Bed?”

\+ + + + + 

Harry looks even better in his bed than he had imagined. Especially with Draco’s come all over his stomach. They’d undressed hurriedly, mixing between taking off their own clothes and each other’s on the way to Draco’s bedroom. Harry had dropped down onto his bed uncerimoniously, laying himself out unashamedly with arms stretched above his head as he’d cheekily asked Draco ‘how do you want me?’. Turns out Draco had wanted him writhing underneath him as he had frotted against him, biting at the hollow of the man’s shoulder, finally taking himself in hand to come all over Harry’s torso.

Harry casts a wandless cleaning spell over them both and then pulls Draco to him. Cupping Harry’s now half hard cock, Draco whispers into his ear, “want me to take care of this?”

Harry pushes up into his hand to gain some friction, and moans, but then takes the hand in his and pull it up to kiss it. “I don’t think I could no matter how tempting that sounds. That blow job broke me.” He kisses Draco’s hair, “give me an hour though, and well...” He tucks him further under his arm and pulls the too warm blankets up over them both. 

Draco grumbles and flings them back. “Too hot. I’m going to get some water. Want anything?” He doesn’t hear any reply, so he pads out of his room. When he comes back he pauses in the doorway to enjoy the sight that greets him. Harry is propped up against some of Draco’s many pillows, book in hand as he leafs idly through it.

“You edited this?” Draco ducks his head to see the cover, it is A study of Advanced Potion Theory. Harry pauses every now and again to read something, before flicking through the pages again.

“This edition. It was last published in the 1950s and pretty hard to get hold of. A colleague of mine, Seline, loved the book as much as I did and we decided to approach the publisher about doing an update. It came out a few months ago. We edited the older content to update it with new research, added some chapters of our own.” He sips his lemon water. Puts a second glass down on the bedside table for Harry.

“It’s brilliant. I mean, I don’t understand some of it, but the bits I’m getting are fascinating.” Draco can tell Harry isn’t bluffing, his eyes are dancing across the text as he reads, clearly engrossed.

“I’ll read it to you sometime. If you like?” He feels a bit embarrassed at the offer, but the idea of him and Harry curled up in bed as he reads, or tucked up together on the sofa hits him deep in his chest.

There’s a smile in Harry’s voice, “I’d like that. Possibly not one of the most common post-coital activities ever, but it works for me.” Draco is sat on the side of the bed. His bed. He has nowhere to run to this time, what’s more he doesn’t want to, so he may as well just man up. He gets up and moves to his drawers, opens the bottom one and moves aside a scarf to pick out the box that nestles under it. Harry looks up as he sits back down and slides the box shyly across the sheets to him. “Gift seven?” Draco nods. Harry has this soft little smile on his face as he places the book carefully down, after sliding a bit of parchment in as a bookmark. He glances up at Draco and then back down at the box.

Draco is impatient. He’s been anticipating this for weeks, the seconds as Harry looks at the box feel like an eternity.

“Open it then.”

Harry holds up a finger in a ‘wait’ gesture. He closes his eyes and holds out his right hand, palm up and curls his fingers into a loose fist before he opens them back out again. There is a gentle whooshing noise and a small brown square box smacks into Harry’s palm. “I didn’t know if you’d got me a seventh gift, you said there was no ring, but I didn’t know if you got me anything else. I know it’s usual to give something in return at this point.” Draco feels weirdly calm as Harry holds out the box to him.

Draco clears his throat. “You first.” He watches as Harry opens up the box, peels back the delicate tissue paper, and reveals the clasp. “I know you won’t neccessarily be able to wear it on your work cloak, but I thought maybe at weekends. You’re not one for robes and cloaks I know, but still I...” Harry leans in and presses his lips to Draco’s, shutting his rambling up.

“I love it. Thank you.” He looks up at Draco. “Beautiful. Elegant. Stylishly understated.” Draco flushes at the implication. “Now you.”

Draco picks up the box. It is light. There is a Ministry stamp on what is a very utilitarian brown cardboard box. Draco quirks a look at Harry. He looks uncertain as he starts talking, “It’s a bit...I’m not sure if it’s the right kind of thing really. But it is personal to me, and I’d like you to have it, so...”

Draco opens the box and his stomach drops a little at the sight. A bracelet. He remembers the conversation about the anniversary gift Harry had bought for Jo. He looks up at Harry.

“I got it when I passed out into the Aurors. The whole force got one, it was a new thing they were doing at the time. An identification and location scheme. It turned out to be too cumbersome to monitor them all, so we figured out an advanced tracking spell instead. We were all meant to give them back to be deactivated, but, well...you know I’m not one for rules. I’ve had it in a frame in my study.”

Draco picks it out, it is a narrow band of copper. It is simple and unrefined with little detail. On it _H.J.Potter Auror B.Mag (Dux) 1999_ is engraved. “It...I can track it. I have a charm it links to.” Draco’s widens his eyes in shock. “Oh, God. I’ve just realised how creepy that sounds. Not like _track you_ track you. But if you _need_ me to know where you are. Like if you are in danger, then you touch it like this and incant _Sanctum_ ,” he swipes his finger over his name “and it casts a kind of echo spell and I’ll get an alert. Like a really discrete Patronus. Only I get the signal, and I’ll be able to apparate to wherever you are even if I don’t know the place.” He rushes on, “I thought I should be able to protect you. God, that sounds awful too. Sorry. I know you’re more than capable, don’t get me wrong, but I get a lot of shit and I don’t want you mixed up in anything because of me.”

The tight feeling in Draco’s chest settles into a kind of warm purr. This is better than some shitty steel torc with some sappy poem on it. He smirks across at Potter. “You actually want me to walk round with your name on me. How barbaric of you.” Harry blushes and starts to stutter out a defence until Draco slides the bracelet onto his left wrist with a satisfied smile. It seals shut magically. He can tell only the application of his or Harry’s magic will be able to remove it. He likes how Harry’s bracelet looks next to the shadow of the Dark Mark. In comparison it seems to fade into the background. At least to him.

• • + • • 

The tapping of an owl wakes Draco. His morning copy of the Daily Prophet is grasped in its talons. Harry stirs beside him, pops his glasses on and looks over at the window. “Oh, fuck. Come on then, lets get it over with.” Confusion reigns for a moment until he remembers Harry holding his hand very publicly last night. He retrieves the paper and gives the owl a treat before it flies away. He hesitates to unfold it. Reaching over, Harry takes it from his loose grip. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever they say doesn’t matter.” He unfolds it and glances at the front page, Eyes trained on Harry’s face, Draco watches him as he reads. “Nothing on the front page. So at least there’s that.” He flips through. Draco is holding his breath as the pages turn. “Page 7. Society News.” He says ‘society’ in a mock version of Draco’s accent. “Harry Potter’s developing friendship with Draco Malfoy continues apace after their successful work on the high profile Hollis prosecution. The two were seen dining at Diagon’s latest hotspot Misceo yesterday evening. A well placed source assures this reporter that the two were on intimate terms.” He stops, looks at the page some more.

“And?”

“That’s it. Apart from a photo.” He whisks the paper around to show Draco. The photo shows them stood in the queue outside. Out of focus witches and wizards fill the background. It is clearly from when Harry had his arm slung around Draco’s waist, but the photo is framed in such a way to make it unnoticeable, cropped to their heads and shoulders only. They both look relaxed. Draco has his head inclined towards Harry, a small smile on his face as he says something, and Harry leans in closer to hear what he’s saying, then laughs. It loops round again as Draco watches. They look good together.

“That’s it?” He takes the paper, flicks through the pages looking for more.

“My lawyers must have done a proper number on them.” Surprised, Draco looks up. “When I dumped Jo there was a right load of bollocks. Quotes from people neither of us had ever even met. _‘Facts’_ about what had gone on that were anything but. I set Mandrake and Scattergood on them. I think the phrases ‘International Statute of Wizarding Rights’, ‘right to a private life’, and ‘baseless speculation and hearsay’ were used in the letter. A hefty donation to a charity of my choice later and it looks like they may have learned their lesson. For now.” He grins. “No doubt they’ll get us at some later date. I bet they got better photos than that, but they clearly aren’t willing to print without something more concrete to back it up.”

“Like me walking round with a bracelet with your name on it?” Harry flushes, but his gaze also traces over the bracelet on Draco’s arm somewhat possessively.

• • + • • 

This day is awful. It always is. He wishes he could just hide but he knows Harry hates it just as much and he needs him here. As the day has come closer he’s become more subdued, they've both slept worse. It is a gathering organised by the Ministry, housed in the function rooms at the British Magical Society.

As well as the usual speeches on reconciliation and peace there is to be an award ceremony to various charities who have been doing reparation work since the War. It’s a big affair, with a huge chunk of the wizarding world in attendance. He arrives at the door and hands over his invite with ‘guest of Harry J Potter’ inscribed on it, and makes his way inside, being handed a drink almost immediately. Pansy is here herding Cordelia around, her charity has been nominated for an award. Blaise is her plus one. He’d tried to avoid being here officially as Harry’s guest, but Harry can be persuasive. Very persuasive.

Various well known individuals are here, including some Quidditch teams. The Pride of Portree are in attendance, they are being recognised for the good work they have been doing with a youth team for kids who were affected by the War. From a distance Draco had seen Harry unavoidably drawn into a group with several of the players, including Stone, as pictures were taken by the press. Draco is pretty sure that the Prophet manipulated it that way, hoping to get something exciting to publish. A couple of the players looked rather uncomfortable, one even going so far as to manouvre Stone away by placing himself firmly beside Harry. Even so they had ended up shaking hands. Even from this distance Draco can see Harry’s tight expression. His ex seemed to have no qualms about trying to use the situation to his advantage, smiling for the camera while keeping a tight hold of Harry’s hand.

Draco manages to find a way over to Harry not long after. He slides up to his elbow and hands him a water. He strokes his hand discretely over Harry’s where they touch between them. “All right?”. Although it has been a while since that second date at Misceo they are still being discrete.

Harry squeezes his hand, and smiles, before dropping it again. “Better now you’re here.” The tension in his shoulders is visible. He’s speaking later, as always, but Draco knows that he is glad that this year he is being called on to make the presentations rather than giving a formal address. They stand close, watching the room, saying little. Their shoulders are touching as they stand. Harry tips his glass occasionally in greeting as people catch his eye. Weirdly to Draco, no one is really approaching Harry. Normally at public events he gets buttonholed and has his ear bent, but not today. Today people mostly seem to have the presence of mind to realise what he must be going through. The awe of what he went through resurfaces for everyone today.

Hermione and Weasley approach not long after. They don’t say a word. Hermione draws Harry into a long silent hug, when she pulls away Weasley’s arms replaces hers almost immediately. His eyes are glistening when he lets go. Around them people are glancing their way. Hermione kisses Draco on the cheek with a whispered ‘hello darling’. Weasley holds out his hand for Draco to shake, and he does so silently. There isn’t anything he can say.

Standing in a line against the wall at the side of the room in silent contemplation they must make quite a sight, Weasley with his arm around Hermione, his left shoulder to Harry’s right, Draco on Harry’s other side, backs of their hands touching each other. Closing his eyes, Draco lets the memory of the overwhelming relief he had felt on this day in 1998 surface. How when Harry had stood, unexpectedly raised from the dead, his heart had leapt with hope. He slides his hand to his wand holster and touches the hawthorn wand there.

As Shacklebolt starts to speak on the stage Draco opens his eyes. He’s not really hearing the words, but he joins in the subdued applause as the speech closes. He can feel Harry fidgeting next to him and he hooks his little finger round Harry’s. He leans and whispers in Harry’s ear, aware that people are turning to look as they wait for Harry to make his way to the stage. “All over soon. Be what they need you to be for a little bit longer. Then we can go home and forget the world exists for while.” He’s got Kreacher to get in some of Harry’s favourite foods and to hold any post or visitors tomorrow. Harry nods, not looking at him, and pushes himself off the wall before making his way up to the stage.

The speech is witty. Self deprecating. Focusing only briefly on his part in the War, Harry puts the spotlight firmly onto the groups he is presenting awards to. Draco takes a moment to admire him, he’s not in uniform, he prefers to be just himself when it comes to memorial events, not a representative of the Ministry. A lump comes to Draco’s throat when Harry’s fingers ghost over his constellation clasp at an emotional moment, he’s secured it to the collar of his robes.

When it comes to calling Renovo up to the stage Draco takes a moment to enjoy Pansy’s shock at her name being called alongside Cordelia’s. It isn’t that many people don’t already know of her connection with the charity, but she has made a point to never put it in the foreground. Harry had checked with Draco whether she would actually kill him for calling her up too. His assurances of Harry receiving, at the worst, a painful hex had clearly been good enough. Glaring in Draco’s direction she presents an amusing picture for him. She’s clearly thrilled but also mortified, and wrongfooted. The warring emotions on her face may not be visible to many others, but he knows her well enough to see them. He’ll be in the shit when he next sees her but it is worth it. He claps loudly as they exit the stage.

\+ + + + + 

The speech seems to have broken the spell. Harry is now being gladhanded by seemingly every person in the room. Draco will have to intervene soon, he can see the weariness around Harry’s eyes, how twitchy he’s getting as he smiles and poses for the press photos, blindly takes the invites and cards pressed into his hand. Eventually he sees a lull. Harry is with Longbottom and Luna only. They have both pulled him into a hug one after the other in greeting, Luna extremely tearful though also smiling, and the hangers on have fallen away somewhat respectfully again, although will undoubtedly return if he gives them chance. Now’s the time to make his move and swoop in. As he steps out of the secluded corner to make his way across the room he senses other people on the same path, he turns find himself face to face with Ìosaph Stone who looks more than a little drunk, and the team mate who had placed himself alongside Harry earlier. Joshua, he thinks his name is, Portree’s beater. Joshua has a hold of Jo’s sleeve as if to try and slow him. Draco pauses in his path, and so do the other two. “Ìosaph,” he greets the man curtly.

“Jo. This is a bad idea. Just...leave it. Come have another drink with the others.” Joshua glances across at Harry all the way across the room, then back to Draco. Stone shakes off the man’s hand, makes to keep going across to Harry. Stepping forward Draco places himself in his path.

“Not today.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do. Whatever this little thing is you’ve got going on with him is, doesn’t let you tell me what to do. Death Eater scum.” His face is twisted. He’s flushed from drink. He goes to move forward again but Draco doesn’t move.

“ _I said_ not today. If you want to talk with him, then...Owl him again. Or if he still ignores those then go to the Ministry and wait for him. You know he always goes to Harpies games. His favourite sandwich shop is still Maggie’s. He’s still often in the Leaky on a Friday night. Catch him in one of those places. But don’t ambush him here, in public, on one of the worst days of the year. He doesn’t deserve that.” Joshua tries to pull him back again, but Stone gets in Draco’s face.

“I see your game. The press haven’t picked up on it yet, they might be buying all this ‘friends and reconciliation’ shit, but I don’t. You’re worming your way in. Biding your time. Little Death Eater scum wanting to get his arse fucked by the Chosen One. Offer yourself up like a slut just to get everyone to think you’re better than you are.” His voice is sneering, and he lunges for Draco’s arm. “You think he’ll really be able to forget this? You can hide it away here, but it won’t be that easy when you’re in his bed...” He stops as his eyes drop to where he’s pushed up Draco’s sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark. The copper bracelet sits snug around Draco’s wrist. Jo looks incredulous, disgusted, “He gave _you_...”

Pulling his arm back from the now loose grasp, Draco pulls his sleeve back down briskly. The words sting, however much he might wish they didn’t. “We’re done here. I said not today.” He turns to look at Joshua. “I suggest you take your team mate home before he makes even more of a fool of himself.” He’s lucky no one has really noticed their altercation yet, fortunately they are tucked away at the side of the room. He glances briefly at Stone again before smoothing down his robes trying to regain his composure. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears. “This is not about me, and it is _certainly_ not about you. You go one step closer to Harry and I will hex you, consequences be damned. I protect my own, and I do not play by the rules.”

Taking a step back he raises his eyebrow at Joshua who takes that as his cue to pull Stone back. It is stupid, but he can’t help himself for the next words that spill out of his mouth, “and for your information, Jo, quite a lot of the time it isn’t my arse that’s the one getting fucked.” It is crude and beneath him, but he takes a sick satisfaction in the way Stone jerks around at the words, snarling as he breaks free of Joshua’s grip.

Weasley is in front of the chaser with one hand to his chest, the other holding his wand, before Draco even knows he’s there. “You heard him. Go home, Jo. You’re a fucking mess. And actually fuck what he said, don’t even try to contact Harry again. You had your chance and you blew it. There’s a reason he’s not returned your owls. He’s not going to look twice at you, so don’t embarrass yourself.”

Stone sounds more confident than he looks, “Don’t be so sure. You really think he’s going to pass up getting back what we had to be with _him_?”

Weasley sounds tired. “What you had? Don’t kid yourself mate. You had nothing. Not when it really came to it. Were you there last May? Did he ask you round to be with him on Halloween? Have you ever comforted him when he’s needed it? It was all take with you. And as much as it kills me to say it. This man,” he waves his arm behind him towards Draco, “has given him more of what he needs than you ever did. Than you ever could. Harry’s happier now than I’ve ever seen him.”

They have attracted some attention from the small handful of people nearby now, with Stone’s snarling and Weasley’s intervention. Unfortunately Draco is pretty sure one of them is a Prophet journalist. “Draco is ten times the partner to Harry than you could ever hope to be. You shagging around on him was probably the best thing that could have happened to him, because it made him boot your sorry arse.” He gives Stone a shove back into Joshua’s arms and nods his head at Calum who Draco now sees is stood nearby, waiting. “Make sure he gets seen out, will you?”

As Stone is escorted to the exit Draco and Weasley give each other a long stare. Draco steadies his breathing. They turn to cross the wide room towards Harry, Longbottom, Luna and Hermione, falling into step as they do. “Your father has a television doesn’t he?” Weasley gives him an incredulous look at the seeming non-sequitur. Draco presses on, “Have you ever watched one of those Muggle wildlife shows?” He glances across to see Weasley’s still confused face. “Where they follow a herd of animals in the wild? I feel like I’ve just been accepted into the pack by the Alpha male.” 

He glances across again as Weasley stops with a laugh, and Draco halts alongside him. “Yeah, well, the real leader accepted you in, what, five years ago?” He nods in Hermione’s direction. “I guess if they both think you’re alright I might just have to get used to it.” He pulls a face, “although I could could have lived without the mental images of your sex life. Thanks for that.”

“You called me Draco, back there. Does this mean I should be calling you Ron?” They’ve resumed walking, slowly, Weasley scooping up two whiskies from a passing floating tray as they go. He passes one over.

“Fuck, no. I just said that for effect. Weasley and Malfoy is still just fine. Don’t let’s get ahead of ourselves.” Throwing back the whisky he shoots Draco a wry grin. Draco does the same unable to help but returning the smile. Weasley touches his arm to halt them again before they reach the group. “You good for everything he needs tonight?” He pulls his face at the possible double-entendre then presses on. “No booze. And he’ll probably get a bit shaky, keep him warm. There’s these particular blankets...”

“The pink one your Mum knitted, and the felted one Hagrid retrieved from his parents house. Already out on the sofa. I’ve got some of that orange hot chocolate he likes on standby, and Kreacher ready to make all the cheese toasties he could require. I got Dreamless Sleep and Calming Draught in, but I don’t know if he normally medicates?”

“Not unless he’s really bad. He might not have said but he did it a bit too much in the early days, it got pretty bad, so he likes to avoid it now if he can. Just talk him down. You’ve got this.” Draco nods. That makes sense of a couple of things.

“I never thought I’d say this in my life, but you’re a good man, Malfoy. Or at least good enough. It can’t exactly be the easiest day of your year either.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean, Weasley. The anniversary of the death of the homicidal maniac who reigned in terror over my mother and I, in our own home, can only be a happy day surely?” His voice only shakes a little.

A firm squeeze of his bicep is his only reply before they arrive by Harry’s side. He’s waving goodbye to Luna and Longbottom as they head to the door. Luna pauses to throw a wave Draco’s way. Hermione hooks her arm into Weasley’s, and Draco moves to rest his hand gently on the small of Harry’s back.

“Home?” It’s a hopeful little question, Harry breathing it gently into his ear. He sags tiredly against Draco’s side, leaning his forehead against his temple.

“Home.”

He knows there will be a shit storm to come. Nothing involving the two of them would ever be straight forward afterall. 

He’ll look after him tonight.

Hide them both away from the world tomorrow.

Then they’ll figure out everything else, together, after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I write a slightly shorter companion piece from Harry’s POV? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> By the way, these are the seven traditional gifts I made up for wizard courtship:
> 
> • Flowers - name or meaning of name of giver as a reminder of them when they are absent  
> • A bird, fish, or other ornamental animal. Usually something ‘wild’ but could be a painting or miniature. Should be joyful, lighthearted, beautiful, and uplifting. Lucius really should have checked how Narcissa felt about peacocks!  
> • Mead - some is usually kept back to toast the wedding, and the birth of firstborn child. This is the point it gets serious. Gifts one and two you might give to a potential partner, but then not go any further, you don’t move onto three unless you think it is going somewhere.  
> • Parchment or Linen - something handcrafted, or something for the recipient to use to craft something. Often to be used to make an item for their new home together. By working on it a little each day the recipient is reminded of the love of their suitor.  
> • Potions or ointments, or a wooden medicine chest - healing or soothing, a start to the recipients own potion collection on leaving home. A reminder of a future life together, caring for one another.  
> • Clothing - robes or silks to have robes made from, something that could be worn to a first formal occasion once married.  
> • Jewellery - more recently an engagement ring, or in older times a brooch for a cloak, with the givers family crest on. Something that outwardly symbolises the union. Recipient would usually give something in return, either jewellery, or something personal that shows they value and respect the giver. Often it would be picked to show how well suited the couple were, something that alluded to shared interests and a future life.
> 
> I’m imagining the poem Harry references starts “My love brought me flowers, to tell me his name” but I haven’t thought what the rest would be!
> 
> I promise I’ll get back to writing [Magical Teacups](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16683403/chapters/39123907) soon!


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